“It’s *glorious* in here, Col. Bucket.” She splashes some water in happiness. “Come on in!”
“I — can’t get — this *bucket* off,” the smaller person in the 90 room complains, yanking with all her might.
“Oh come in anyway. It’ll get a little soggy — so what? It’ll fall off naturally then.” Blue Feather was adamant. Col. Bucket must join her!
“You don’t understand, Blue Feather. That *is* your name? Right?”
“Yeees. You know my name, Col. We’re related.”
“We are?” Her voice was muffled by the bucket, but still strong and youthful. They were indeed related. “How?”
“You are my cousin.”
“Hmm,” Col. instantly responded, not surprised. “I think everyone is everyone else’s cousin to some degree — I — I — read that.” She remembers her primary task and begins yanking again. The bucket must come off! She must see straight once more!
“Here.” Blue Feather rises out of the water, but becomes instantly dry. She goes over, and in another instant, removes the bucket easily from the Col.’s head.
But, trouble is, the Col. disappears with the action. We’ll see her again soon, though.
Blue Feather cusses, complaining that she’s lost another one.
She leans down and begins to fill up the bucket again.
Sunklands 