“We’re on the peak, and there's no tree I can rest in.”
“You don't need one. Today, we're going to sleep in the luxury of a cave,” said Mr. Raccoon.
“Where? I don’t see any cave up here.”
"Correct. It's not up here; it's down there."
"Down where, Mr. Raccoon?"
"About halfway down this side of the mountain."
"You got to be joking."
"I never joke," said Mr. Raccoon. "Hazardous to your health. Although I must admit I like, bantering with you. You lighten my mood and help me to bend."
"Mr. Raccoon, you've lost me. What's the difference?"
"Difference between what, Child?"
"Between bantering and joking. They're the same."
Mr. Raccoon observed The Child; vexation was written on her face.
"Yes, I think so."
"Guess, why I have a black spot on my face?"
"That's the way you were born," said The Child.
"Nope. Cause my eyes stand out."
"Now you're pulling my wool."
"That's what joking does?"
"Pulls your wool."
"Never seen it that way, Mr. Raccoon. So, where's the cave?"
"Look down on the other side."
"Beautiful. Water is down there."
"Yes, indeed. Right around the bend."
"You mean, I'm almost there?"
"We'll arrive before nightfall."
"Then, let's go. I don't need to sleep."
"You need rest, Child. You'll make it on time."
Suddenly The Child heard the old familiar voice of the person she yearned to see in the wind.
"Rest, Child. You need your strength for what lies ahead."
"Did you hear him?"
"Hear who, Child?"
"The Prophet. He's here."
"Child, The Prophet is always here."