Keefe 6 In the morning, he was the first to wake. The sun was coming brightly through the trees, and he had to spend a moment or two locating himself, remembering that he was on a mountain, on a hard sleeping-bag that had become wadded and uncomfortable beneath him. He stood up. Claire and Blazer were still asleep. On their bed of pine boughs, they had rolled apart. He fished inside his knapsack for his bathing-trunks, found them, and slipped off his trousers. For a moment he stood there, tall and naked, wondering what they would say if they should suddenly wake and see him. Then he stooped, pulled on his trunks, and walked down towards the water. The footprints were still there in the sand. Carefully, he walked up and down over them, erasing them. For what reason, he didn’t know. Perhaps, he thought, by erasing the footprints, I can erase the incident from my mind. For a long time, he stood looking out across the water. Then he turned, and saw that Claire was standing farther back, on a rock, watching him.
