added some recent edits and new scene with jujitsu mat

1 files changed, 2 insertions, 2 deletions

diff --git a/lbh.txt b/lbh.txt
index 168485d..fde545b 100644
--- a/lbh.txt
+++ b/lbh.txt
@@ -23,7 +23,7 @@ By the time they arrived all the twins had left was a memory of trees. The deep
 # Main
 ## Chapter 1:  Aboard *Wanderer*
 
-The scent of the world crept into her hammock even before she opened her eyes. The smell of wet wood and salt. The soft sweetness of cedar too long at sea. The bright briny smell of the wind. She opened her eyes and looked up. A sliver of purple twilight peeked through the canvas of the hammock, wrapped up around her. She craned her head back to look at the dark brown mast, crusted with salty white patterns that looked like the drawings of snowflakes in Papa's big book, which was wrapped carefully in walrus leather and stored somewhere in the hold beneath the deck. 
+The smell of wet wood and salt. The soft sweetness of cedar too long at sea. The bright briny smell of the wind. She opened her eyes and looked up. A sliver of purple twilight peeked through the canvas of the hammock wrapped up around her. She craned her head back to look at the dark brown mast, crusted with salty white patterns that looked like the drawings of snowflakes in Papa's big book, which was wrapped carefully in walrus leather and stored somewhere in the hold beneath the deck. 
 
 The wood creaked. Some of the salt blew loose. The water slapping the hull told her the waves were small. Her hammock, strung between mizzen mast and taffrail, swayed hardly at all. She lay without moving, trying to feel the boat as her father had taught her. She closed her eyes again. The boat was lifting and rolling slightly. They were moving with the current, but not as fast as the light swell rolling past them. At this latitude, this time of year, this close to shore, that would be south, as it had been for days now, although a swell moving south was called a northerly swell, which always mixed her up. 
 
@@ -245,7 +245,7 @@ The long afternoon shadows began to race their way across the clearing they'd be
 
 They ate dinner as the sun set through the trees behind their half-finished hut. Lulu went down to the shore and rinsed her abalone bowl. The air had a hint of chill at the edge of it. The sea was cold on her feet. When she came back her father and Kobayashi were laying oak logs on the coals that had cooked dinner. It wasn't long before the fire was roaring and light filled the circle of dune. Lulu sat on a log of gray driftwood and watched her Uncle Cole play the fiddle while Birdie and her father danced in circles. Henry and Owen sat on a log next to her Aunt Māra and directly across the fire. Lulu smiled. She like winter camp, she liked her family. She knew enough of the world to know they were different. Perhaps even odd to most people. But she didn't care. She was glad they had a place to live their lives the way they wanted to, a place they could fish, a place they could weather storms. 
 
-Birdie sat down beside her breathing hard. Her father pulled Henry up and danced with him and then he switched to Lulu. After a while Uncle Cole professed he was tired and put away the fiddle and sat down by the fire. There was catching up, plenty of poking fun, a rather long story about planting rice that Lulu lost track of in the middle when she began to doze off. It wasn't a made up story like the ones her father told around the fire on winter evenings. These were the stories Lulu wanted to hear. The stories that felt like they were real. Like the worlds he described were out there somewhere, waiting for her to discover. Worlds of pirates and ships and storms, talking animals, strange mythical creatures. Her father never failed to take what would always start as a normal story and turn it in someway that you never saw coming but afterward couldn't imagine turning out any other way.
+Birdie sat down beside her breathing hard from dancing. Her father pulled Henry up and danced with him and then he switched to Lulu. After a while Uncle Cole professed he was tired and put away the fiddle and sat down by the fire. There was catching up, plenty of poking fun, a rather long story about planting rice that Lulu lost track of in the middle when she began to doze off. It wasn't a made up story like the ones her father told around the fire on winter evenings. These were the stories Lulu wanted to hear. The stories that felt like they were real. Like the worlds he described were out there somewhere, waiting for her to discover. Worlds of pirates and ships and storms, talking animals, strange mythical creatures. Her father never failed to take what would always start as a normal story and turn it in someway that you never saw coming but afterward couldn't imagine turning out any other way.
 
 Later she found a blanket in the pile of still unsorted belongings in the hut and went partway up a dune where she could still feel the heat the fire, but also see the stars and the sea. She fell asleep watching Castor and Pollux twinkle in the night.