Thorat looked over his shoulder before ducking into the dark hollow under the bridge and scurrying to the back where they hid the cooking pot.
“Come here and lie with us,” Myril whispered. “It’ll look more like you’ve been here.”
The voices came closer, but their approach slowed as the canal bank grew steeper.
“I’m soaked,” Thorat whispered. “How do you know I’m hiding?” Myril could hear him starting to take off his wet clothes.
The Cereans were coming closer, and quickly.
Iola woke briefly as Thorat climbed in beside her. “You’re cold,” she whined sleepily.
“Shh…” Thorat said. “Cereans.”
The foreigners shouted back and forth to each other. They carried torches. Myril wished that she could understand their words, that Darna could be there to interpret. She could only listen and gues
