Hugging the tree line, you go about a quarter of the way down before there’s an arrow marked with a blue square pointing into the trees. Mama ducks in and you follow. Coming around a bend, you spot mama with her camera out for a photo.
“Something the matter?” she asks, inspecting the photo in the view screen.
Coming to a halt in front of her, you visibly squirm, your bladder aching.
“I — I need to go,” you explain.
A sad smile on her, mama shuffles over. She puts an arm around you.
“Can’t go in your nappy?”
You glance around again to find the trail deserted.
“No,” you admit quietly, your face going red in embarrassment.