Title: Our Sons and Daughters
Chapter Title: Blue Sapphires
Author: Baby Blues
E-mail: purely_blissful@hotmail.com
Rated: R
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, except for the children and the story.
Summary: Finally, a glimpse through Tristan’s eyes and a few moments in his mind. And Buffy heads to LA.
Dedication: To ToriBlue, whose e-mail drove me to write the next chapter as fast as I can. Thank you so much for loving and understanding Buffy’s children and enjoying my 8 original characters. Your perception of each teen gave me a happy. ^__~
Note: There are a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter. Hope you guys catch them all because they’re really important for future references. If you don’t want to be surprised, of course.
Excerpt:
~Brooke: You sure told her.
~Aiden: I’m not a big fan.
~Brooke: Obviously.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blue.
Blue and vibrant . . .
Alive . . . with energy.
. . . There was so much life up there.
Tristan continued to gaze up at the late afternoon sky, shifting slightly on the bench in the hotel’s unkempt garden as his eyes searched the heavens, studying every cloud that languidly drifted by. He blinked once, twice . . . and decided that it would rain within 3 hours before the sun even began setting.
His blue orbs slowly traced a passing cloud, noticing the way the wind manipulated the contours so easily as it swept by.
Like smoke . . .
The smoke of a lit cigarette.
His eyes then shifted over to a tall building across the street from the Hyperion Hotel. It was a small factory. A simple red-brick building with two open, gray chimneys that read King Mattress with smoke emitting from the cavities and curling its way towards the blue sky.
Blue.
Blue and active . . .
Brilliant . . . with a gentle force . . .
. . . When it was kind.
Suddenly, the large cloud covering the sun glided on through, and the intense rays caught him off guard. Lifting his hand up to cover his eyes from the brightness of the large yellow ball of fire, he rolled off the bench, his gaze swiftly landing on the clear doors that led inside the hotel.
He watched mutely as Cordelia passed by the glass doors towards the office area of the lobby. She looked, as always and forever will be, bewitching. Dressed to kill in a satin gray skirt that went down just above her knees, a pink top that showed a fair amount of cleavage, strappy black shoes that made her even taller than she already is, she looked ready to pose for a Vogue Magazine shoot.
It was still her everyday hope to be seen by someone who wasn’t a vampire or a demon, someone who would make everything right again for her.
Tristan saddened, yet his face remained impassive as he stared down at the cobbled ground, watching a group of marching red ants make their way around the front of his scuffed, black boot. He moved his feet away, folding his legs under him on the bench, tilting his head slightly as he diligently watched the small curve of their trail gradually straighten.
His eyes went back to the tall blonde as she made her way across the lobby once more, this time with a cup of coffee in one hand and a slim folder in the other. She was radiating loneliness in small waves that stabbed diminutively at his soul.
Tristan’s eyes zoomed closely on garden snake that slithered down a patch of grass, withered leaves, and dry twigs. It slowed and looked at him with black, beady eyes, its forked tongue flickering shamelessly through the air. Harmless as it was, it quickly moved on to continue its search for small insects, disappearing amongst the greenery with barely a sound.
His gaze went back to the glass doors of the Hyperion, searching patiently for his subject who had now disappeared in his line of vision.
A bird chirped nearby and his gaze followed it as the small animal went from one plant to the next, gathering what looked like lunch for its bundle of chicks. He smiled, his grin small and crooked like his father’s. The red breasted robin took off in a graceful flight with a quick flap of its wings and disappeared through the gates.
He then noticed Cordelia staring at him through the doors as though he belonged in a bedlam. She rolled her eyes, clearly muttering to herself about ‘damn weird kids’ and ‘what is Angel thinking of, bringing 8 strangers into their home?’
How misconstrued she was.
The only child of two spoiled parents that found money and their position in high society more important than the value of family and raising their little girl with true and important morals that went beyond the perfection of oneself. With a mother that contributed to charity only to suit the purpose of making her look like a saint among her peers, and a father that believed hard work and golf was the way of life, Cordelia never grew up in an environment like the ones her other ‘friends’ had.
She was led to believe that money got a person anything and everything they wanted, self-esteem was gained by putting everyone else down, and name brand clothes let those around you know your high status.
A distant voice from the past talked to him softly in his mind, velvety and smooth like satin, the smell of a rich perfume accompanying it, “People say that vanity is another form of destruction . . . that true beauty lies within one’s inner self. Tell that to your husband or your boyfriend, or your agent who can’t find you a job because you’re no longer twenty-one, tell that to your friends who have Botox parties in their 40th birthdays. Beauty is what makes us stand out better than all the rest.”
Cordelia had to learn true friendship and family principles when she moved to L.A. With nothing more than a few hundred dollars in her pocket and suitcases filled with expensive clothes, she had to start from scratch in a very unfamiliar way. A woman who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth now had to take care of herself with a little more than nothing.
It had been hard for her, and she was trying . . . even if she was moving slowly and at the pace of a snail. She was stubborn and prideful as much as she was blunt and insulting. Yet through the years, she still managed to change, if not dramatically. No longer a young woman who cared about nothing but herself, she was now part of a troop that she can call her family. And she cared about them, more than she probably realized.
Yet she still sometimes conceal her grown qualities with her usual Cordelia-like coldness and brutality. It was what made her Cordy, but it was also a trait that went against her. Her own malice, as unkind and sometimes a bit humorous, was what people used to tweak her nose in exchange. She comments on something with her usual cat-like retorts and someone snaps back with something even grittier in return. And more often than not, she wasn’t able to handle what she began.
And Aiden was and will be more than happy to be her adversary.
With Brooke off to the side as backup.
And Liam not far behind to help as well.
Tristan stood from the bench and began making his way towards the hotel doors with quiet, unhurried steps. He stopped only once to pick off a pink flower sitting alone at the edge of the stairs. Twirling the green stem, he lifted it up to his nose, noting without a facial response the smell of rain emitting from the soft petals.
Entering the cool lobby with the blossom in hand, his eyes explored through the massive room. Finally locating who he was looking for, he casually began walking towards her as she sat comfortably on her office chair, drinking her coffee and reading through her files.
Cordelia looked at him with suspicion above the rim of her mug, as though blocking him away with the small object. “What do you want?” she snapped with irritation, trying hard not to throw a fit if he did something remotely infuriating.
Without a word, but just a small gentle smile, he placed the pink bloom on the edge of her desk. He gazed into her surprised brown eyes and turned on his heels, making his way towards the kitchen where the smell of fresh, baking bread was sweetly drifting from.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to . . . because he already knew that she was picking it up with hesitant fingers, drawing it to her lips before noticing the fragrance of the morning dew on the blossom. He then felt her gaze on his back, and he smiled. She was coming around. Slowly . . . but surely.
She needed a friend for the upcoming obstacles in her path.
He stopped on his tracks just outside the doorway to the kitchen, looking into the lighted room as he hid quietly in the shadows.
Ariella sat at the counter eating an apple as Austin chopped a whole batch of them next to her small, miniature form. They were both magnificent and inspiring in their brightness as they laughed hysterically at something together.
Tristan’s gaze went to the window, watching in the distance as more clouds drifted towards the city. Gray and heavy . . . like smoke . . .
His eyes went directly to a boiling pan of water on the stove, the white steam rising towards the ceiling in small white ringlets.
“Hey, Tris,” Ariella greeted with a wave.
He smiled in reply and stepped into the room.
How fresh and untouched she looked in her plain white top and cut-off jeans. She was barefoot, her feet dainty and delicate as her hot pink toenails glittered under the florescent light.
“Pink - it's my new obsession. Pink - it's not even a question. Pink - on the lips of your lover. Ohhh. 'Cause Pink is the love you discover. Pink - as the bing on your cherry. Pink - 'cause you are so very. Pink - it's the color of passion . . . ,” a voice of a woman sang in his mind as a young girl giggled in the background.
How bright and innocent she appeared with her happy smile and careless laughter . . . yet deep inside, how fearful she was, how nervous.
His insides curled, yet his calm appearance remained.
It hurt to see it, to feel it. She was what made this world better, with her glowing aura, her untainted purity. She was everything all other seven wanted to be, wanted to go back to when they were still young and everything was all right with the world . . . where four leaf clovers existed at every patch of grass, Bugs Bunny cartoons were on every Friday night, fairytales always had a happily ever after ending, and chocolate fudge popsicles never ran out. Other than her fear, she was still uncontaminated. So much more unsullied than the others can or ever will be again.
“Sup, Tristan?” Austin’s greeting followed.
“We’re making jelly for the bread we’re baking,” Ariella offered.
The younger boy just nodded and took a seat at the table, folding his hands across his lap. He continued studying her as she and Austin went on with their cooking with much zeal.
Blue and green.
Ocean and Land.
The entire world was separated in Ariella’s eyes.
She was being threatened by this place, and Tristan wanted nothing more than to shield and protect her from the upcoming terrorization that was clearly making its way west of the United States and into their lives and in the places around them. But he knew that defending her from the reality of this dimension was futile. No one was safe . . . not even a person as beautiful and clean as she was.
“Innocence is a delectable delicacy at its finest . . . when you witness it, you’re at once awed, but once you conquer it, the taste is even more inspiring,” a voice laughed throatily in the back of his mind.
He closed his eyes and ignored it.
“You know, I’ve never made jelly before . . . let alone bread,” Ariella professed.
Austin smiled at her. “Well . . . now you have.”
She giggled. “Mom would have keeled over if she ever saw me kneading dough. I mean . . . ,” she shook her head, “Easy Mac isn’t so easy when you’re not sure how to work the microwave.”
Austin looked at her curiously, but not disdainfully like most people would have gazed at her with that bit of trivia she just shared. “How is that possible?”
She took another bite of her apple. “Our maid, Ester, usually makes our meals, including my snacks,” she explained with a touch of awkwardness and embarrassment in her tone.
Growing up as the only child of Buffy and Angel, she developed in a home of sweet luxury others would have killed for. Yet through all that, she still managed to have the genuine love and devotion of her parents and those around her. She was spoiled in materialistic and everyday things, but also in affection.
And suddenly having 7 other siblings will be a harsh lesson for her to discover.
Ariella never had to fight for her parents’ attention, and she now had four other brothers and sisters to share them with and three half brother and sisters to divide her mother’s interest with. Not to mention another half brother that the Angel in this dimension was truly a part of. It will be tough for her to learn that it’s no longer all about her anymore. That will be her ultimate challenge, and something that’ll be hard to understand and accept for someone as young and as sheltered as her.
Tristan’s gaze went back out the window at the gathering clouds above. Someone was coming . . . and with it was danger. And that wasn’t even the menace arriving later on. This was new, different . . . and it will bring chaos as much as a sense of peace amongst all of them.
Hell will break loose . . . and the past will come running towards the present.
But there is calmness after the tempest . . .
“It looks like a storm,” Austin said beside him.
“How fitting,” Tristan murmured.
Austin smiled and nodded.
Tristan turned and studied him as he directed Ariella in the finer arts of boiling water and making jelly.
Austin was an ocean of zen. The peacemaker and diplomat if there ever was one. They would all need him in the upcoming months, maybe even more for his wisdom and reassurance.
Tristan just wished it wouldn’t be so hard on him.
The Powers had been kind to Austin. They gave him everything from servants, personal tutors, and anything and everything a kid could ever want in life. But what they failed to provide for him was the love that only parents could supply. While the PTB had been benevolent and gentle with Austin’s upbringing, they had also been aloof when it came to personal emotions. After all, the Powers were known for their formality and their ironic way of twisting and turning the lives of those on earth, not in their friendliness and their way of making things easy and simple.
Where Austin got his laid back manner and consideration for those around him came from watching his parents’ lives like a movie or even a TV show, staying tuned as much as he can as Buffy and Angel went through their lives without even realizing that their own son was watching their every move. Austin observed them, and he suffered when they suffered, he laughed when they laughed, and most importantly, he learned through their mistakes as well as their triumphs.
Knowing that, if Austin had grown up without being able to watch Buffy and Angel as he did, he would’ve been very much like the Powers, distant, cold, and calculating.
Even now, Austin was taking their situation with confidence and faith. Making the best of things and keeping everyone from killing each other. He was truly taking his position within the group seriously. As the eldest, he found himself responsible for each and everyone of them.
The pressure of it will surely take its toll.
“There is no such thing as perfection. Humans are created to make errors and live to survive it. To try to grasp and hold onto excellence means more than just failure, it means the destruction of one’s true self,” the frail, yet sharp voice of an old man reached softly into his mind.
Austin’s future looked bright, but the bleakness in the distance looked threatening. It was still miles away, but how cruel to know it was there. And as Tristan continued to look into Austin’s deep brown eyes, he knew the older boy felt it too if not completely realized it yet.
His gaze went back out the window. The robin he saw outside in the garden flew across his view.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Nice top. Where’s the rest of it?”
“Eat me, Bleach Job.”
Aiden shrugged and motioned towards her own locks with a nod of his head. “It’s more natural than yours will ever be,” he grinned becomingly.
Cordelia gritted her teeth. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Someone else you can annoy?”
He shrugged again. “No,“ he shook his head, “I’m enjoying myself immensely right here. But thanks for asking.” He smiled, “I didn’t know you cared that much considering how non existent you heart is,” he shot back in reply as he circled her desk, picking up mundane little trinkets. “Who’s this from?” he asked, his fingers circling the stem of the flower one of the boys had given her.
“Give it back.” Cordy tried to yank it from his grasp, but Aiden tugged it back, causing the petals of the blossom to scatter around him. She gasped in shock and stared at him in disbelief.
“Whoops,” he said casually, and tossed the remainder of the flower in the trash next to her desk. “It’s not like you care, right? I bet you get plenty of flowers from anonymous men with colorful backgrounds,” he said derisively.
Coming out of her shock, Cordelia watched his hands move through her other possessions strewn across her desk. She grabbed a framed photo of herself with some of the others from his greedy little hands and placed it back on her desk. “Don’t touch my stuff.”
He quirked a brow. “Your crap, you mean.”
“Get. Lost,” she demanded, on the brink of jumping up from her chair and throttling the kid to death.
He smiled and waved a finger at her as though he was scolding her, making Cordelia even angrier at the manner in which he was treating her. He continued with his browse through her things and picked up another photo.
“Homecoming Queen 1996. Sunnydale High. Freshmen Year,” Aiden read out loud as he stared at the picture of Cordelia in a fashionable gold and white dress, a glittering crown upon her head, and a big wide smile across her young face. He looked up and locked eyes with her livid ones. “Those were the days, eh? And look at you now. Sitting behind a desk, killing demons in your free time, and wishing for another tiara and Brad Pitt,” he laughed and stared back at her with the same intense venom she was giving him, leaning forward as he whispered spitefully, “Bad karma . . . and payback’s a bitch.”
Chuckling at the confused and maddening expression on her face, he put the picture back down on the table and left the office, meeting up with Brooke who stood by the doorway with a semi-smug look on her face.
“You sure told her,” she said as the two of them made their way to the kitchen.
“I’m not a big fan,” Aiden confessed.
“Obviously.”
“Mom saved her ass more times than I can count,” Aiden said, his face harsh and stoic, “The least the bitch could do was thank her.”
Tristan watched silently as the older boy stalked into the kitchen, his blue eyes dark and furious as he flopped onto a seat. How passionate Aiden was when anger was the source of it.
Fate had been unkind to him. As the only child of a vampire too depressed and grief ridden to raise his only son properly, Aiden was left mostly to tend for himself, even as a child. Growing up in a harsh neighborhood in Sunnydale, he was considered an outcast among his peers and even the children of demons and other oddities living in the Hellmouth because of his father’s peculiarity and history, his mother’s strange absence, and most of all, Aiden’s own cynical and solitary demeanor.
No one cared.
No one ever gave him a chance.
Even the Scooby Gang didn’t know what to make of him or even how to help him, their own bitterness about the past like a brick wall blocking their vision to see what was really important. And his father was barely a help.
The smell of cigarette smoke reached his nostrils as a voice mentally told him, “Life’s a bitch . . . that’s why I’m dead.”
Things could only get better for him.
“We’re making fresh bread and jelly,” Ariella told him brightly, her good mood too infectious to ignore.
But when it came to Aiden . . . “That’s great, Small Fry, just don’t burn anything.”
Ariella’s face fell . . .
And the room became silent.
Austin’s eyes darkened as he stared daggers at the blonde. Even Brooke, who sided with Aiden more than anyone else, was glaring at him in the same way.
Ariella jumped off her perch on the counter and practically ran from the kitchen.
The fierce looks of the others became even colder.
“Can’t wait until you have kids of your own,” Brooke shot at him.
Aiden sighed, rolling his eyes in irritation. He had never been around anyone as young as Ariella before. He knew he couldn’t treat her like the others, and it was hard for him to remember that she was still a child who may not completely comprehend or appreciate his sarcasm. “I’ll apologize later. Will that make you all happy?”
“Not really, but it might work for her,” Brooke retorted.
Aiden’s jaw clenched in frustration, but in the end, his conscience won out and he got up from his seat, following Ariella’s troubled trail. His heart was warming up, after all.
“I don’t understand why he’s gotta be an ass all the time,” Brooke shook her head, sitting down on the chair Aiden had just occupied.
“That’s Aiden for you,” Austin replied.
Brooke looked back at Tristan. “What do you think?”
Tristan’s calm expression never wavered at the question suddenly thrown at him. “I think he’s only getting used to the fact that he has 8 other siblings, if you count Connor as well.”
She looked surprised that he actually answered, knowing he rarely talked, if ever. “Wow, a whole sentence. Impressive.”
Tristan just smiled at her, his eyes zooming in on a spider that hung precariously from the corner of the ceiling, it’s web attached securely onto the walls. A Black Widow. Deadly with one unmistakable strike.
Brooke silently followed his gaze, squinting a bit to see what had his attention now. “What is it?” she asked, not knowing what exactly he was staring at or what she was looking for.
Tristan just smiled at her once again and turned to watched the doorway. Brooke frowned and stared at it him questioningly, wondering what he found so fascinating about the entrance to the kitchen. When he failed to provide her with an explanation, she stared at the door with him. Seconds later, Liam and Eliza walked in.
Brooke was barely able to hide her shock, but did not comment.
Rude, cunning, and with a weakness for chocolates and the cute and cuddly, Brooke was her mother 3 times more brutal with her own puns, physical strength and agility. She exuded confidence and a laid back attitude that made some people uncomfortable, but deep inside she was frail and wounded, hurt too many times by those she loved.
“You can’t choose who you love. Fate just does the picking for you. And to fight it is suicide,” a voice explained in his head.
Her life could have been “normal” if Buffy and Spike had stayed together in her universe. But destiny had other plans and the two blondes were just not meant to be. And Brooke’s denial and resentment over that reality was strong, and it was destroying her.
She always fought her urges to cry. To her it was a sign of weakness, of defeat. And whenever she saw her mother and Angel showed each other affection by kissing and holding hands or whenever her father went out on dates with strange women, she was reminded of the normality she was denied in her youth . . . and she did not cry. She never cried, not anymore.
Sure it had been 10 years already, but life wasn’t the same after Buffy divorced Spike and married Angel, moving only down the street and into the Crawford Mansion. The betrayal, the hurt, it was all still there like a corny tattoo on her arm. But what bothered Brooke the most was the fact that no one seemed to mind at all. Her own father barely cared that his wife had left him . . . as though he had been expecting it all along. And that thought troubled her even more.
Tristan’s eyes caught a small mouse scurrying against the wall in fear for its life. It paused just by the doorway and gazed at him curiously with it’s shiny black eyes.
Slowly, as to alert anyone, Tristan picked up a crumb from the table and dropped it by his feet. The mouse’s nose twitched and stared at the scrap that had just been freely offered to him. With hunger as motivation, it and scampered forward, sitting by his shoes it munched on the speck of toast silently with a gusto before dashing out of the kitchen satiated for the time being.
“What’s for lunch?” Eliza asked curiously.
“Bread and wine,” Liam answered with a tiny smirk after he checked on the heating bread.
“Where’s the wine?” Brooke asked with a small chuckle.
“I bet Austin knows how to make a barrel,” Eliza joked, gently jabbing the older male with her elbow as she grabbed an apple and bit into it.
“Grapes and time,” Austin replied unconsciously.
The other three shot each other knowing looks.
“Why am I not surprised,” Brooke smiled, shaking her head at Austin’s vast knowledge of all things trivial and essential. Without his wisdom, he just wouldn’t be the same person.
Tristan’s gaze went back to the platinum blonde. Brooke had her dreams and aspirations. She wanted more in life than to be just another Scooby Gang member trapped in Sunnydale for the rest of her life. She wanted to travel, to see the places she had only seen on TV, heard about from her father, or read about in books. She wanted to see Spike’s version of England, she wanted to open up a pastry shop in Paris, she wanted to meet and marry a foreigner who owned a vineyard.
She wanted so much more in life than what her mother had. She craved for a chance to live a normal life and do what she wanted to do rather than be burdened with a destiny she would rather abandon if she didn‘t have a ethics.
And now, to her, every one of her desires seemed hopeless and too far away to ever reach. Her future happiness had been shattered by what she saw as a careless and selfish act. Life to her could have been different if Angel had just stayed in LA and never bothered their lives.
Brooke couldn’t let go of the past completely.
She didn’t know who to blame the most . . .
. . . And she couldn’t forgive.
“I need a few more things,” Austin announced.
“What things?” Brooke asked with a slight yawn.
“And for what . . . exactly?” Liam followed.
Austin smiled brightly. “I’m going to make an Italian feast.”
The others paused and stared at him as though he was out of his tethers.
Brooke chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? Do you honestly expect us to gather around at the table and have a big family dinner?”
Eliza nodded. “Yep, you’re insane.”
“Can you just picture Aiden and Cordelia sitting next to each other sharing a basket of garlic bread?” Brooke laughed and gave him two thumbs, “Yeah, that’ll go well.”
“Family dinner from hell. I’d rather fight off 50 demons than deal with that. No offense there, Austin,” Liam sighed with a small smirk of his own.
Tristan stood up from his seat, grabbing a pen and a pad of paper from the other side of the kitchen counter. His pen poised on a blank sheet, the young boy asked, “What do you need?”
Everyone gazed perplexedly at him. Tristan hardly ever said a word, they all knew that, but to agree on something and side with someone was beyond their understanding of who he really was. He was an enigma they couldn’t quite capture or explain.
Recovering from his shock first, Austin quickly answered, “Fresh shrimp, garlic, parmesan cheese . . . ” he went on with his list, Tristan attentively writing it down with smooth, sure strokes of his hand.
“Oh, and can you get some juice too, please?” Eliza added.
“And tampons. Tampax Pearl,” Brooke inserted with a sly grin.
Liam fidgeted awkwardly, Austin coughed twice, and Tristan wrote it down.
“I’ll ask Dad for some cash,” the youngest male said and started for the door. But he paused at the entryway and looked out the kitchen window, just gazing at the horizon . . . and he knew, he felt her coming closer . . .
Mom was coming home . . .
. . . And the sky was still blue . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Buffy silently hung up the receiver and stared blankly into space.
“Amm . . . Buffy?” Dawn asked worriedly, taking the cordless phone from her sister’s limp grasp and quietly placed it on the coffee table. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Buffy shook her head. “Nothing . . . nothing big,” she answered with a small pout. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself from the alarming news Angel had just shared with her over the phone. “I . . . I just have to get to LA.”
“What?! Why? Now?” Dawn questioned hysterically, shocked that her sister would leave at a time like. And to LA of all places.
“Listen, Dawn,” Buffy said, grasping her younger sister by the shoulders, “Something happened in LA and I need to be there. It’s really important . . . other wise, you know I wouldn’t leave now.”
“No,” Dawn shook her head, not caring if Angel was having some major crisis that needed the aid of a Slayer, or even if the Pope was asking for her. “You need to be here, you have obligations here in Sunnydale. The SIT’s, Spike . . . you can’t just leave now. Too much is at stake here, Buffy! People may die if you're not here to protect them.”
Buffy touched her cheek and gave her a small, forced smile. “I know, but just trust me when I say I have to be there. Please . . . understand,” she begged, “I’ll talk to Giles and the others and explain everything to them as best as I can, but once you hear what I have to tell you, you’ll tell me to get my ass there too.”
Dawn sighed, but hesitantly nodded. She didn’t know what Angel wanted, but she was sure he wasn’t going to call for absolutely no reason. And if Buffy needed to go to LA, she needed to go. “When are you leaving?”
“Today . . . now.”
Continued to Chapter 6: Trail Towards Home
Back to Chapter 4: Behind the MIlky Way