He supposed that every now and then one would die, just as humans died, naturally or by accident. He felt quite strongly that it should be left to rest in peace at the waterhole, though, and not be added to a collection somewhere, pinned to a board and left in a drawer for months at a time until some stranger came to peer at it. So, feeling a bit guilty and very idiotic, he took it over to the sandier ground by the pool, and quickly scooped out a shallow grave. He laid it quietly within, and pondered for a while the brightness of the blue wings against the reddish soil. But then he heard Nicholas moving about the camp behind him, so Dave quickly covered the butterfly up, and for good measure placed a flat stone over the spot as a mark of respect. “Sleep well,” he whispered. “Go find old man grunter, wherever he’s dreaming now …” “What are you up to?” asked Nicholas in all innocence on Dave’s return. “Just pottering about,” said Dave. “Putting things to rights.”
