Literally the only thing that happens in this chapter is Raegan can finally get on Greenie's back without needing to climb on a rock or tree.

The next morning, after she had marked the nineteenth tally on her wall, she had to take a step back to just stare. Nineteen days.

She decided to take her newly found bucket down the stream to clean it up, and then she would go berry hunting. Washing it out in the water to make sure it was clear of anything weird, and then swishing it around a few times. She couldn't help but hum a bit as she worked. She was cheerful today, even went as far as to clean off her bare toes in the water.

Then she went through the trees, looking for any sign of the bush she had come to rely on the last few days (she'd found it on day fifteen, coming back and forth to nibble on its fruits). Blueberries weren't the best with fish, she had come to discover, but any new taste in her mouth beat it from time to time. She just wanted to cover maybe a full layer into the bucket before she headed home to get Greenie to fly her back to the beach.

Of course, it took much longer to fill the bucket up when she kept eating them as she got them.

Then it felt like eating them made her even hungrier.

What finally stopped her this time was a curious little teeny dragon when it landed softly on her shoulders. It wasn't enough to knock her down, but it was enough to surprise her a bit before she paused her work to address the little bugger.

"Wha- -Oh, hey there, little fella," She gave him a little pet under his nose where she knew they liked it. This one wasn't Wybie, but she recognized that it flew in the same flock. A friendly. When he gave her hand a grateful rub back, she followed his curious gaze as it landed in her bucket. "Oh, you want some?"

She pulled out three in her palm and held it out to him flat. He sniffed them, rolled them with his nose, turned his head so his eyeball was within an inch of them, then pulled back his lips as far as they would go and took the teeniest bite she had ever seen anything have.

The little dragon immediately pulled its head back and spit the berry out in a fiery ball. At once she rushed the bucket over to the stream nearby to dump it on the offending flames, losing all of her progress to a harvest. She gave the delinquent dragon a glaring squint.

The dragon just sat on its rump and stared blankly as its little eye shot out of its mouth to lick its own eyeball.

She sighed through her nose, hands going to her hips.

The dragon just flew off.

She decided she was bored with harvesting berries and went to go look for Greenie. She was going to get the tarp back to her cave one way or another. She doesn't know what she'd use it for, but she wanted it.

The sharp and deadly weapons could stay by the beach, she decided.

Hanging out by the beach, she had a stick in one hand while she examined the area she'd left yesterday. On the stick was her meal of the day. As you can expect, it was fish. She took little bites from it as she wandered around the beach, peering at the half-buried barrels and the scattered maces.

The she stepped over to the sail.

The only real way she could picture getting the tarp back to her camp, where she might be able to make some sort of waterproof shelter or hang over the mouth of the cave so it stayed warmer and isolated from the rest of the outside, was to somehow put it on one of her dragon friend's backs and have them fly it there. They were all much stronger than she was.

Or she could get them to carry it? It was far too much for her to put it on his back.

She let a little breath out of her nose when she went back over to her green, rock buddy. She couldn't climb a tree or something with her fish-on-a-stick in her hand, so she just put it in her mouth to hold. Maybe she could just shimmy her way onto his back with sheer will.

The dragon was watching as a fly buzzed around him while laying down in the sand. If she stood on her tippy toes she could reach up and grab onto his back, but it was a stretch.

It took a lot of wiggling and some adjusting, but she did finally put enough force in her arms to pull herself up onto his back without the use of literally just standing on something. To say she was proud of herself was an understatement. She took a satasfied bite from her fish, before throwing the meatless remains down into the sand.

"Greenie," She gently tugged on his ears where she immediately reached to hold him, and turned him to the direction where the sail was folded. She didn't have any specially big plans for it, but she wanted it anyway. "C'mon, pick this up for me."

He followed her directions to the sail to the T, but just placed his right paw on the edge and looked back up at her.

"Pick it up," She encouraged, trying to mime what she wanted him to do.

It was very clear after a moment or so that he wouldn't get it, so she turned her attention to one of the nearby barrels. It was one of the few ones that she'd dug up enough to look at the inscription and odd pictures on them. It was all unreadable, but she could still try to open it.

Of course, all she could really get him to do now was fly over it and then land directly on top, trying to crush it open with their combined weight. He got more of a clue when she tried hopping on his back, hearing the occasional creaks under her while they squished the wood.

Maybe five minutes later, she had jumped from the green rock's back and had one of the smaller maces slung over her shoulders while she tried to carry it over to the container. It took a lot of effort to heave it up, much winding up needed to be done before she could finally smash it down on the wooden side and split it open like an egg.

Most of her shenanigans that day were unsuccessful, but at least she didn't get sprayed in the face when the whole thing smashed inward and pushed out a foul smelling brownish liquid she couldn't identify.

She wrinkled her nose and jumped back as quickly as she could when the contents leaked out and into the ocean.

Day nineteen didn't really get anything done, to be honest, but she was curious enough about the markings on the barrel to gather up the splintery pieces and carry them back to her cave to keep. She might not be able to read them, but they were interesting to look at.

They might have smelled really bad, and needed to be washed up, but she could keep them in the same place as her bucket and fork.

It might not take much to entertain an eight year old.

"Does your French Revolutionary History class have a leaky ceiling?"

"It's a rain of terror."