My hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine, and a lump came to my throat when I realised that I had forgotten her birthday.
As beads of sweat gathered on my forehead, I rushed into the house, pulled on my boots and headed out. If I hurried I still had time, she wouldn’t realise until it began to grow dark.
It was a mad trip, and I only just made it back in time but she was there, her eyes cold.
“Happy birthday,” I told the ornery tortoise, “I got your lettuce Daphne.”
She appeared unimpressed.