He was tempted to stay outside with the others, relaxing and watching the chaos unfold as Annie and Phillip tried to ask Doña Lynda about the best way to hunt armadillo, but the way the girl had favored her leg as she tore away from Annie the day before sparked his concern. Inside, the scent of baby powder and lavender overpowered his senses, and it took Felipe a moment to realize the smell came from a line of crumpled baby wipes littering the floor. The trail started at Annie’s backpack and led to his hammock, where Chowmey lay. She hummed to herself, one scrawny leg dangling over the edge of the rough fabric and an empty, clear bag between her fingers. The sheen on her face and arms told him exactly what had happened to the wipes. “Chowmey?” The hammock froze. The girl scrambled down, stuffing wipes, even the smudged, ripped ones, into the bag. Around her, the rest of Annie’s things lay strewn haphazardly on the floor.
