“Don’t worry, kid,” George said, grabbing the back of Caspian’s shirt and lifting him up. “This old girl always knows her way out of a storm.”
“You and that camel,” Anya scoffed but winked at him.
George put Caspian in front of him, one arm on the reins, the other wrapped protectively around the boy’s waist.
As if that boy wasn’t a monster who had just done…that…and was actually his son.
George spurred the camel forward, abandoning the woman. As for Francis, the sand was near up to his chest. As far as deaths went, suffocating beat burning, he supposed.
Someone grasped his arm, yanked him clear out of the sand. Before Francis knew what had happened, he was bouncing on the back of the camel behind the archaeologist.
“W-what are you doing?” he cried.
“We don’t leave anyone behind.” George reached past the boy in front of him and patted the camel’s neck. “Come on, girl. You know the way.”
Cleo bleatedand tore through the storm.
Francis awoke to a crackling fire and a clear night sky. The winds had died down, and he must have passed out on the camel. What had happened?
A storm. A real bad storm.
The archaeologist sat next to the fire and stirred a pot over it. Cleo, Francis’s new favorite animal, lay resting. Anya had a notebook in her lap, scribbling away. Relief flooded Francis. She’d made it back. She hadn’t been on the camel, had she? And nearby, the little boy was whittling a piece of wood.
They didn’t seem at all concerned that he was there.
Did any of that even happen?
“Ugh, this is awful.” Caspian threw the wooden piece onto the sandy ground.
Francis peered at it, not quite ready to let these strange people know he was awake.
George placed the stew down before the boy and picked up the wooden piece. He squinted his blue eyes at it. They were mighty blue eyes. Now that Francis thought about it, this man looked too young to be the boy’s dad. “This is supposed to be Cleo, right?”
“Yes,” the boy mumbled. “I was going to give it to Anya, to thank her for…”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.” George smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair in a much nicer way than Roy had ruffled Francis’s. “I’d say it’s rather cute. It’s got character.”
“Did I hear my name?” Anya placed her notebook down and went over to them.
“This is for you,” Caspian muttered and wiped his nose. Something dark, maybe blood, ran from it.
Anya took the camel from George, and a huge smile appeared on her face. “I love it,” she cried and embraced the boy.
He stiffened, as if he didn’t know what a hug was, before he carefully wrapped his arms around her.
“Can I give you something now?” Anya asked, pulling back.
The boy nodded.
“Hold out your wrist,” she said.
Caspian did, and Anya hovered her fingers over it. She had beautiful hands, long and delicate. Everything about her shimmered with beauty. Like an angel. And by the way the archaeologist stared at her, he thought so too.
“Hold still,” Anya said, and a band around the boy’s wrist glowed.
Glowed with beautiful golden light.
But Francis had seen enough weird stuff today not to question it.
