"I am certain you are not supposed to

  be in there."  The woman on the sleeping mat did not rouse.  The tallest woman from the choir easily put a paperweight hand on the head of the child.  Pressed into place like a Pansy in a book.  "Release all weight," the older girl threatened. 

  "Let me hold the camel.  And I will tell you what I've seen today." 

  It's fur was just an iota less real than real camel hair.  Some of the older kids would say "It's real!" Just as a person snuggled the thing into a touchstone with an imaginary "place" away from the brutal sun and the cruelty of no water in a desert and the stiffening of everyone's feather-light into law and order.  The push and pull of mindhearts in play with "reality".