The little girl looked up at him, her mouth stretching into a smile to reveal her sharp little canines, "You must not call me Hannah!"
Like a cat with its fur bristled.
And very angry at that.
"I won't call you that anymore," the boy quickly compromised, softening his voice, "then what should I call you?"
"My name is..." She paused for a moment and said just two syllables, "Hannah."
Without a surname.
"Okay, Hannah." The boy squatted down, keeping eye level with Hannah, then said very seriously, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lied to you."
By their side, the fire was still burning, and the dried, cracked tree branches snapped and popped.
Sparks jumped out, landing at the boy's feet.
The boy, though only eight or nine, looked serious like an adult.
Hannah pursed her lips, her cheeks puffed out.
Having been out and about all day, her face was still dusted with grime.
"Are you still mad?" the boy asked her.
Hannah shook her head, then nodded, unsure of what to say.
