Amarante sat high above them on a stony precipice watching with a look of detached bemusement. Speaking to Mort who also seemed to watch the chaotic scene below from his perch on her knee, Amarante’s voice mirrored the indifference of her eyes.  

“Look at them Mort, it is very, very, sad.  The innocence of childhood, yet they are not innocent.  They hold malice in their hearts so it must be malice which will be visited upon them.  So very, very sad.” Yet no trace of sadness could be detected in her tone.

Amarante pulled Mort to her angular chest as she stood, still staring at the scene below. The soft ocean breeze lifted strands of her ebony hair in the air, giving her the appearance of a young Medusa, her pets undulating about her head in a dance of anticipation.  

The children continued to cry out on the sand below, renewed in their determination to find the strange girl responsible for their friend’s misfortune.  They ran about like the proverbial headless chickens, pointing and shouting commands on where to look for their antagonist. Mathew sat dazed by the shoreline, his head turned towards the now still starfish afraid to let it leave his sight lest it recommence its attack.  Only the small girl in the white bonnet remained by his side. However her attentions were not on the boy.  After trying with no avail to rouse Mathew from his fixation, she stood and looked upward to where Amarante now stood.  Taking off her dirty bonnet, her hair floated from beneath, as light and reflective as Amarante’s was dark and absorbing.   Her eyes, as blue and pale as the sky nearest the sun held a steely determination.

“Oh yes Amarante,” she repeated, “I am going to tell.”

Amarante looked down upon the blonde haired girl and for the first time emotion revealed itself on her features. A hint of a smile pulled the corners her ripe, strangely womanish lips.  Mort, cradled now in the crook of her arm, seemed to share her amusement.