it was dark and misty and I was up on Salkantay, backing out of the latrine tent. I tapped its nose with the back of my head, whirled around and saw the ears and the big eyes. It didn’t spit. I never clocked one spitting, that only happens to Captain Haddock. They look too haughty to acknowledge you with spit. I’m used to seeing foundling gloves and soft toys left out on walltop display but the llama is new to me, makes me smile. It pinches me away from the news and the venom, the havoc and tears.
