"Maw," I mumbled. "I wanna drink."
Her bare feet padded into the kitchen. I heard the rattle of tin cup against galvanized bucket. Then she was back at my side again and the spring-water was fresh on my dry lips and gums.
"Maw," I rambled on. "I don't wanna sleep. Tell me about when you were a little girl back in Virginia—and the big white horse and the black people...."
"Not tonight, honey. You're all tuckered out," she crooned, stroking my forehead and picking up the thread of that interminable song.
"I a-am not your daughter, sir,
And neither do I know.
I a-am from Highlanzer
And they call me Jack Monroe...."
I woke with a start, those last lugubrious lines still ringing in my ears.
"She dre-ew out her broadsword.