The horses knickered quietly in the lush grass, and a breeze whispered by, soft as poplar leaves as the sun slipped slowly behind the bute. Jim stirred the twigs and dried grass as the flame caught and added a couple of small logs to the fire.
"I wanted to say again how sorry I am about last night, Jim" said Bill, all in a rush, looking down at the fire. In the silence between them, there was only the crackle and popping of the dried wood catching and the tent canvas rippling in the breeze.
"I suppose I should have mentioned I was lactose-intolerant..." The rest of what he wanted to say got caught in his throat, like he'd swallowed a bee.
*
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