9:11

Rowan rocked back on her heels and carefully wiped her face. From behind her she once again heard Gareth softly talking in his sleep. He had been muttering unintelligibly all night except for that one, eerie moment when he’d quite clearly said “My beaver.”

It was moments like that always led Rowan to suspect that the universe had a sense of humour; or maybe there was a god, not eh big, white-bearded, sitting-on-a-throne guy, but more of an out-of-work hack with nothing better to do than create moments with no respect to linearity or continuity. I mean really… a half-dead beaver, a sleep-talking boy, a huge racket and a mysteriously empty hallway. It was almost enough to to make Rowan want to change into some tiny underwear and a tight white t-shirt and go wandering alone outside with a faulty flashlight.

Right now he seemed to be clearly talking about the lemon tree. Maybe this muttering really was rooted in something important. She smirked appreciatively at her own cleverness. Never an audience around when you needed one.

“Hey beaver! That lemon tree that everyone keeps fussing about. Maybe this is all ‘rooted’ in something important! Get it… rooted! It’s funny.”

“Want me to explain it again?” Rowan grinned sillily, then, glancing back over her shoulder at the sleeping Gareth, she shifted her weight back on to her hands and started to get up.

“No, it’s not and no, I don’t,” she heard in a weak and gravely tone coming from the sheets in front of her.