Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Q: Light dappled through the trees in the family courtyard, painting shadows on the paving stones. Li Reiko knelt by her son to look at his scraped knee.
"I just scratched it." Nawi squirmed under her hands.
Her daughter, Aya, leaned over her shoulder studying the healing. "Maybe Mama will show you her armor after she heals you."
Nawi stopped wiggling. "Really?"
Reiko shot Aya a warning look, but her little boy's dark eyes shone with excitement. Reiko smiled. "Really." What did tradition matter? "Now let me heal your knee." She laid her hand on the shallow wound.
"Ow."
"Shush." Reiko closed her eyes and rose in the dark space within her mind.
In her mind's eye, Reiko took her time with the ritual, knowing it took less time than it appeared. In a heartbeat, green fire flared out to the walls of her mind. She dissolved into it as she focused on healing her son.
When the wound closed beneath her hand, she sank to the surface of her mind.
"There." She tousled Nawi's hair. "That wasn't bad, was it?"
"It tickled." He wrinkled his nose. "Will you show me your armor now?"
She sighed. She should not encourage his interest in the martial arts. His work would be with the histories that men kept, and yet... "Watch."
Pulling the smooth black surface out of the ether, she manifested her armor. It sheathed her like silence in the night. Aya watched with obvious anticipation for the day when she earned her own armor. Nawi's face, full of sharp yearning for something he would never have, cut Reiko's heart like a new blade.
"Can I see your sword?"
She let her armor vanish back into thought. "No." Reiko brushed his hair from his eyes. "It's my turn to hide, right?" Question: Who scraped his/her knee?

A: Nawi
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Q: One summer when I was 8 years old my father, mother, and I were rear ended by a 16 year old boy in a pickup truck. Insurance companies dawdled and by the time we received a settlement over a year later my parents had divorced.
I was under full custody of my father living in a trailer in very rural Tennessee (Wayne County) with no electricity and a wood burning stove for heat. My mother was nowhere to be found until a few years later.
We received the settlement and it turned out to be several thousand dollars. My dad turned on the electricity and bought our first computer, a Packard Bell.
Now we needed dial up internet! -My what a change!
Then he started dating online.
He met a woman who lived in Franklin, TN (Williamson County), dated and married her (at least for a few years), worked at CompUSA for a few years, then started his own computer repair business which he and I ran from 2001 to 2014 before selling it.
Williamson County population : 226,257
Wayne County population : 16,583
I ran a business with my father, graduated from a high school that was ranked 24/273 instead of one ranked of 223/273 in the state. The woman I married would not be the same, nor where I live and the lifestyle I now live, the jobs I have been able to get, the places I have been able to go, traveling around the US and to Canada and soon further abroad.
The amazing things that I have experienced in my life are a pretty direct effect of some 16 year old kid not paying attention and rear ending my family. Of course certain decisions were made and things happened that took things down this particular path, but it all leads back to that night.
Good night, and drive safely! Question: Who met a woman online?

A: The girl's father
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Q: Pirate gold. Coins, rings, ingots. Necklaces of emeralds and opals and sapphires. Chalices, bracelets, daggers inlaid with diamonds and lapis and ivory. Malone rolled over in the soft hotel bed. Not just gold but the things it would buy. A two-story house of brick and wrought iron. Greek columns in front and coaches parked in the drive. Built high on the center of Galveston Island, away from the deadly storms of the Gulf, away from the noise and stink of the port. White servants and negro slaves. Fair-haired women to sit at the piano in his parlor. Dark-skinned women to open their legs to him in the secrecy of the night... He sat up in a sweat. I will think no evil thoughts, he told himself. Outside, the sun rose over New Orleans. Horse-drawn carts creaked and rattled through the streets, and chickens complained about the light. The smell of the Mississippi, damp and sexual, floated through the open window. Malone got up and put a robe on over his nightshirt, despite the heat. He turned up the gas lamp over the desk, took out pen, ink and paper, and began to write. 'My dearest Becky...' * He smelled the French Market before he saw it, a mixture of decayed fruit, coffee, and leather. He crossed Decatur Street to avoid a side of beef hung over the sidewalk, swarming with flies. Voices shouted in a dozen different languages. All manner of decrepit wooden carts stood on the street, their contents passed from hand to hand until they disappeared under the yellow canvas awnings of the market. Beyond the levee Malone could see the tops of the masts of the tall ships that moved toward the Governor Nicholl's Street Wharf. Question: Who wrote a letter?

A:
Malone
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