TASK DEFINITION: Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.
PROBLEM: 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?

SOLUTION: Nawi

PROBLEM: 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?

SOLUTION: Malone

PROBLEM: I already gave this example in another post but I think it was a really interesting situation with an interesting outcome so I'm going to repeat it. When I was 21 years old I produced a play. It was actually my second. The first was really successful. With the second I bit off a lot more than I could chew and I got too big for my britches and I ended up with a sprawling money eating disaster that caused me to have to move to a poor part of town and to go to court with my publicist and to be in debt for a couple of years. I could have absolutely let this ruin me and discourage me. And I realized this was a very delicate situation for my creativity and my sense of hope for the future. So I said to myself one day, "let me take a walk to the park and have this situation out with myself once and for all." Two blocks from my house was this wonderful neo classical park with beautiful stairs leading from level to level. I walked up and down the stairs and basically said to myself "this was a failure. I am having a failure experience. But I have a choice of how I look at this. And the big Takeaway for me with this experience is that I have talent and there is a big creative future for me. And I have hope. I have to slow down. I have to make sure I don't get ahead of myself. I definitely have to clean up this mess and be patient for however long it takes . But bottom line the big take away from this experience is that I have talent and I have a future and I have Hope." It was one of the most amazing moments I've ever had with myself. There are about 100 other experiences in my life where I wish I had had a conversation like this. This one was a treasure. Question: Who does the author say had gotten too big for their britches?

SOLUTION:
the author