When I finally open my bleary eyes, I awake to sunlight streaming in our home, casting patterns on the cave floor. At first I feel the peace of the morning and trill of birdsong lull me into a false sense of security. For some reason, I felt as if I had a splitting headache.
Then the events of last night come rushing back. I sit bolt upright, horror coursing through my veins. I stagger over to Emmett, still passed out on the far right wall. Anxiously I check for a pulse. He can't be dead, he can't be dead, I chant in my mind. For a moment, I sense nothing, and my heart stops. Suddenly, I feel a ever so faint thump. A second one, stronger and steadier than before. I sigh, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Relief floods my entire body, and giddiness overwhelms me. Emmett was alive! And we had survived an encounter with a Gone! In fact, I had killed one!
Two emotions, ones I hadn't experienced in years, overwhelmed me. Happiness, and pride. Pride at my capability, my tact, and my ability to survive. Sure, if I hadn't left the door locked, this may have never happened, but even this thought can't dampen my mood.
I decide to go hunting, since most of our supplies were destroyed in the Gone's rampage. As I head out, I actually whistle a tune, a practice I gave up a long time ago. The tune is a ancient, centuries old, but is one passed down from generation to generation in my family, called "How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You?." It was a silly little ditty, one that I sang to Emmett to make him giggle. It went like this:

How many times do I have to tell you,

Scrub your teeth and make your bed.

Say "Please" and "Thank You" whenever you are fed,

For these are things a child should do.

How many times do I have to tell you?

Never say no to what you've gotten,

Never be rude or rotten.

For these are things a child shouldn't do.

How many times do I have to tell you?

I love you dearly, too,

No matter what you say and do,

I will always be there for you,

For I am your mother, through and through.