Two familiar figures emerged through the dark from amongst the old-growth pine trees. LT's mother stood in the campsite waiting for them, arms crossed. They sensed her annoyance even without being able to see her face.

It had been a long day for the two fourteen-year-olds. They had crawled with their fishing rods along the boulders that lined the river, its icy water running off of the glaciers on the mountain that loomed above them. Though they hadn't caught any salmon, they had found a dam formed from tree trunks yanked from the earth in a massive mudslide years ago. And they had jumped from a high rock into a clear blue pool when the heat of the day peaked.

They had returned (miraculously) on time for dinner. After building a fire they had feasted further on roasted hot dogs (despite LT not taking the red protective stopper off the end of the new roasting fork before stuffing a frankfurter on it and melting the red  rubber into the meat).

Then they'd made s'mores. Roasting marshmallows they had laid them on graham crackers along with a piece of chocolate. They'd polished off both chocolate bars, a sleeve of crackers and the entire bag of jet puffed marshmallows. By this point LT's mother and auntie had gone to bed (as of course they would have never have allowed such an indulgence). Admittedly LT and his friend had felt a bit sick and had actually thrown the last few marshmallows at each other before saturating them with hand sanitizer and sending them into the embers like little bombs.

But it had been on their walk to the bathroom that the incident happened. They'd hustled back to the campsite and put out the fire with a bucket of water and quickly returned to make things right.

It was the hiss of the water on the embers that had awoken LT's mother. Somehow mothers know when their children aren't where they are supposed to be. She'd gotten out of the tent. She'd used the ambient light from other campfires and lanterns to find her way to the path and headed out in search of the boys. But she hadn't found them.

Annoyed, she now waited in the dark for them to return.

To their credit, it wasn't all that long before they found their way back to camp. Their excuse for disappearing into the night was sound. LT's friend had stepped on a small frog and it needed proper burial. As for the reason why all the marshmallows were gone, that involved a pitiful tangent about the benefits of clean hands and how the hand sanitizer had miraculously spilled into the bag of marshmallows thereby ruining them and they were only cleaning up by putting them into the fire.

Somehow mothers know which answers are earnest and which are a complete lie. LT's mother went back to bed accepting the frog story but determined not to buy any more marshmallows. 

But somehow 14-year-old boys have a way of wearing their mothers down.