“In my world,” he said unexpectedly, “there is a type of … tree.” I faced him again, my brow furrowed in puzzlement. “On the tree, it grows small …” He cupped his hands as though holding something. “… small fruits. The outside is poisonous, deadly, but inside is juicy and sweet. We fight over these trees. I have killed to take the fruit when it is ripe.” He picked up another s’more cookie. “These are better.”
