heads. Beneath her fair hair, Antonia’s scalp burned. A few days out there, and she’d be fried to a crisp! If only the stubborn man hadn’t insisted on bisecting through the desert…if only they’d have stuck to the road instead.
The sun hardly seemed to budge. Antonia had never known the hands of time to move more sluggishly, except maybe during Sacred Scripture study in the temple. Not that she minded reading. But those old scrolls writ in the Ancient Elphysian script, called Skarsköt, were tedious to decipher, let alone study.
She was pondering the idea of perishing from thirst possibly being worse than decoding Skarsköt when her companion halted. “Green,” he announced, pointing to a weed poking through the crackled ground. He reached for her bag. “Shovel, please.”
Antonia handed it over. After poking around the little weed, he began to dig. “If a weed grew here, then there could be some water underground.”
Antonia was uncertain. “I don’t know, Rob… It’s only one little weed. Not exactly an oasis.” But another bout of coughing overtook her, and he merely continued digging.
Maverick trailed off in the opposite direction, sniffing, and Antonia watched him with some apprehension. She hoped he wouldn’t get lost. She then marveled at herself. She wasn’t growing concerned over a dog now, was she?
At least thirty minutes passed, but Robin still found nothing. His brow and collar dripped, his blouse nearly transparent with sweat. But still, the ground he dug up was bone dry.
“Rob,” said Antonia gently. But he made no indication of hearing her.
She took a breath, knowing what she had to do. She couldn’t let him exert the rest of his energy. He needed to preserve his strength for the days to come. Who knew how long they’d be out here? At the same time, Antonia was well aware that his pride and stubbornness would not allow him to give up just yet.
“Give me the shovel,” she requested. “You need a break. Let me do the digging for a while.”
He turned to her, his face ruddy as his hair. “Take turns?”
She nodded, and he passed her the tool gratefully. “Thanks,” he panted.
Antonia gripped the handle and began to dig, the hard steel chafing her hand as the shovel’s mouth clanged against stones buried in the earth. She lifted out pile after pile of brittle soil, along with clumps of rock and dirt, but no sign of water. Soon she was coughing all over again, having accidentally inhaled more dust.
After another reluctant sip of her bottle, she returned to work. She’d never realized how difficult it was to wield a shovel. Or, perhaps it was just this unforgiving terrain. But for Robin’s sake, she dug on, uncomplaining, ignoring the dirt that threatened to suffocate her, forcing herself to resume while the man rested some distance apart.
Eventually, though, she heard him calling her softly: “Annie.”
Her hand smarting, she turned. He stood perfectly still several yards behind her, subtly pointing to the ground. Antonia’s heart pounced to see something slithering his way. Squinting, she realized it was an exotic serpent, its scales white as teeth, with a succession of purple bulbs at the tip of its tail, which emitted petrifying clicking sounds as it moved.
Inexplicably, her memory flashed to the morning she’d first seen Robin, when he stood cornered at the mercy of that ruthless woman and her pistol. With her deadly weapon cocked, Rowena Wildaison had slinked towards him, just as this viper did with its dripping fangs. It was the same instinct to protect him that overtook Antonia in that moment, as she lunged forward. With all of her strength, she hurled her shovel onto the snake.
Alas, she’d only struck its middle. Robin shouted as the creature rose its flat head in the air, rounding on her. It bared ivory fangs with a deadly hiss.
Antonia raised the shovel and brought it down over the serpent again, although not before a searing pain struck the wedge of
The sun hardly seemed to budge. Antonia had never known the hands of time to move more sluggishly, except maybe during Sacred Scripture study in the temple. Not that she minded reading. But those old scrolls writ in the Ancient Elphysian script, called Skarsköt, were tedious to decipher, let alone study.
She was pondering the idea of perishing from thirst possibly being worse than decoding Skarsköt when her companion halted. “Green,” he announced, pointing to a weed poking through the crackled ground. He reached for her bag. “Shovel, please.”
Antonia handed it over. After poking around the little weed, he began to dig. “If a weed grew here, then there could be some water underground.”
Antonia was uncertain. “I don’t know, Rob… It’s only one little weed. Not exactly an oasis.” But another bout of coughing overtook her, and he merely continued digging.
Maverick trailed off in the opposite direction, sniffing, and Antonia watched him with some apprehension. She hoped he wouldn’t get lost. She then marveled at herself. She wasn’t growing concerned over a dog now, was she?
At least thirty minutes passed, but Robin still found nothing. His brow and collar dripped, his blouse nearly transparent with sweat. But still, the ground he dug up was bone dry.
“Rob,” said Antonia gently. But he made no indication of hearing her.
She took a breath, knowing what she had to do. She couldn’t let him exert the rest of his energy. He needed to preserve his strength for the days to come. Who knew how long they’d be out here? At the same time, Antonia was well aware that his pride and stubbornness would not allow him to give up just yet.
“Give me the shovel,” she requested. “You need a break. Let me do the digging for a while.”
He turned to her, his face ruddy as his hair. “Take turns?”
She nodded, and he passed her the tool gratefully. “Thanks,” he panted.
Antonia gripped the handle and began to dig, the hard steel chafing her hand as the shovel’s mouth clanged against stones buried in the earth. She lifted out pile after pile of brittle soil, along with clumps of rock and dirt, but no sign of water. Soon she was coughing all over again, having accidentally inhaled more dust.
After another reluctant sip of her bottle, she returned to work. She’d never realized how difficult it was to wield a shovel. Or, perhaps it was just this unforgiving terrain. But for Robin’s sake, she dug on, uncomplaining, ignoring the dirt that threatened to suffocate her, forcing herself to resume while the man rested some distance apart.
Eventually, though, she heard him calling her softly: “Annie.”
Her hand smarting, she turned. He stood perfectly still several yards behind her, subtly pointing to the ground. Antonia’s heart pounced to see something slithering his way. Squinting, she realized it was an exotic serpent, its scales white as teeth, with a succession of purple bulbs at the tip of its tail, which emitted petrifying clicking sounds as it moved.
Inexplicably, her memory flashed to the morning she’d first seen Robin, when he stood cornered at the mercy of that ruthless woman and her pistol. With her deadly weapon cocked, Rowena Wildaison had slinked towards him, just as this viper did with its dripping fangs. It was the same instinct to protect him that overtook Antonia in that moment, as she lunged forward. With all of her strength, she hurled her shovel onto the snake.
Alas, she’d only struck its middle. Robin shouted as the creature rose its flat head in the air, rounding on her. It bared ivory fangs with a deadly hiss.
Antonia raised the shovel and brought it down over the serpent again, although not before a searing pain struck the wedge of
Similar Books
