Out of breath — and nearly out of hope — I ran across the wet sand, looking for a place to hide. After the terrible storm earlier that day, running along the muddy beach felt like running in a huge bowl of thick mush. But I ran just the same because Thick-Neck Nick, the village baker, was dead-set after me.

I had lost Thick-Neck when I made a quick dash between two buildings and headed down toward the sea. I knew he might realize that I had come this way, but then I saw my salvation: along the shore was a long row of fishing boats.

Clutching the stolen loaf of bread close to my body, I looked back over my shoulder. Thick-Neck hadn't yet reached the beach. I took my chance and dove into the very first boat.

After covering myself with a heavy netting, I took in deep drafts of air, trying to catch my breath. I knew that if Thick-Neck Nick lumbered by, he was sure to hear me.

I don't know how much time passed. When you're scared, breathless, lying in rainwater up to your lower lip, and have heavy fish netting on top of you shutting out the light, nothing moves slower than time. Absolutely nothing.

But my heart started picking up its pace when I heard fast approaching footsteps. I cringed down at the bottom of the boat. The rainwater covered my mouth. I had to breathe through my nose.

The steps came closer.

It was useless. I raised my mouth up out of the water and took a bite of the bread. If Thick-Neck was going to beat me, at least I wanted to have something in my stomach to show for it.

Despite my dry mouth, I hurriedly began to chew.

The steps came closer. Did he see the netting move? Did he hear my heavy breathing? Did he hear me chewing his bread? Though I hadn't swallowed my first mouthful, I took another bite, and then another, and another, until my cheeks were so puffed out they looked as if they had the wingspan of a dragon. Well, maybe not that big, but there was more bread in my mouth than there was left in my hand-and I hadn't swallowed a single mouthful. At least, not yet.