Insufferable, ill-tempered, insane! When he wasn’t plaguing Hosea with questions or quizzing me on the logic of the English way, he strutted around, sneering at everyone else’s intelligence, and bragged about his own! It was all a show. Put on to intimidate others, just like his red-stained teeth.

I fumed all the way to my bedroll, snatched off my moccasins and lay down fully clothed—in Voltaire’s britches. I bit my lip and rolled over, determined to rest. However, after several minutes, I sighed.

Voltaire and Fly Man were bent together when I returned, the book between them.

“But I’m still sleepy,” Fly Man protested.

“Don’t be a weakling,” Voltaire said. His voice was gentle. “Finish this verse.”

The little boy clawed at his eyes and yawned. “Okay, okay.” He held the book close to his nose, as if proximity would help him decipher. “‘Do you believe,’ said Can—Can—”

“Candide,” Voltaire said. “That’s his name.”

“Oh,” Fly Man yawned and continued. “‘Do you believe, Candide, that men have always mass—massacred each other as they do today, that they have always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates, bri—brigands, idiots, thieves.’” He yawned loudly. “I’m sleepy. Can’t we read tomorrow?”

“No! You always say that and you never read. At that rate, you’ll never improve.”

I stepped away from the trees. “Let the boy go to sleep.”

Voltaire glared. “You. What do you want?”

“We had a bargain.” I held out my hand for the book. “It’s only fair.”

I saw his battle. He wanted to throw my fairness in my First-Brother face. Fly Man, however, was already sound asleep.

Without another word, I resumed my position.

“‘Do you believe,’ said Candide, ‘that men have always massacred each other as they do today, that they have always been liars, cheats, traitors, ingrates, brigands, idiots, thieves, scoundrels, gluttons, drunkards, misers, envious, ambitious, bloody-minded, calumniators, debauchees, fanatics, hypocrites, and fools?’

“‘Do you believe,’ said Martin, ‘that hawks have always eaten pigeons when they have found them?’

“‘Yes, without doubt,’ said Candide.

“‘Well, then,’ said Martin, ‘if hawks have always had the same character why should you imagine that men may have changed theirs?’

“‘Oh!’ said Candide, ‘there is a vast deal of difference, for free will—’”

The Breath

THE BREATH

Finch and I planned my calisthenics training for the next morning, while Booster and Pidge completed the pole challenge. Eager to start, I woke and hurried to find Finch by the fire. Voltaire and Fly Man were with him. William stood by the hearth, whittling and humming the same old tune. Walker peeled and chopped vegetables. Beside him, Hurley dozed. The three of them were similar in age and often huddled together like so, apart from the rest of us.