Alias offered no explanation. When the pile was set, Maya numbly struck a flint, setting the wood and the bodies ablaze. The black smoke began to billow into the high desert sky, a foul signal to the rest of the waste.
Turning back to the porch, Alias lifted his hand again. Theo's large, unconscious frame rose gently from the red mud, levitating smoothly through the air and back into the house, settling onto the large sleeping mat.
Alias knelt beside him immediately. With unhurried but efficient movements, he stripped away the ruined, bloody shirt, dipping a cloth into the clean water to wash the grime and sweat from Theo's chest and arms.
Externally, he was perfectly calm, but inside, his head was screaming at him to hurry. Every tick of the sun across the sky, every second he wasted in this clearing, was a dangerous, unpredictable variable for Kael.
