Carl looked from the teen's mud-covered clothes to his own clean ones. While he didn't particularly mind a little dirt, he didn't want to be bathed in it. His mother had bought the outfit he was wearing, and the shirt in particular was one of his favorites. Even though in a few years he'll outgrow it, getting it stained was out of the question.
"It's all dry ground over there," the teen said, noticing his gaze. He pointed to the cluster of Magnolias.
Carl nodded. He had almost forgotten that most species of Magnolias couldn't tolerate wet or boggy soil. "So how did you become like this?"
"I tripped over something and went tumbling down. I don't usually look like this," the teen explained as he led them to the cluster of trees where the fireflies shone the brightest.
He brought out a small net from his backpack, also caked with mud, and handed it over to Carl. The handle was made of wood with an uneven coating of green acrylic paint, giving off a handmade vibe.
