Redhawk Caldera baby camp

Caro followed quietly and obediently at Uncle's side, made docile by the hard thinking she was doing. The question he'd posed was a tricky one, because while she knew that kings ought to do important things, she was sure that she wanted to do important things, too. It was hard to decide which things she could afford to delegate and which she could withhold.

Kings seemed rather obsolete, when put in these terms. Caro assumed she must be missing something, and worked her little mind into overdrive trying to come up with a task. "Ummmm," she said, making a sound just to give herself a little more time to come up with something. Could Cinar see the smoke rising from the top of her little head?

"A king can tell bedtime stories," she said at last, because her dad was like a king, and he did that very well. Caro wasn't as good at it, and she liked to listen to them more than she liked to tell them, anyway. On that note:

"And smoosh wasps without getting stung," she declared. At least, he could smoosh them without getting her stung.