Ambrose Drak
Voices murmur. They're distant, just out of reach. The intonation of the differing pitches drags Ambrose from the tangled strings of sleep.
His eyes snap open. Above him, the smooth bedrock ceiling fills his vision with streaks of gray, black, and light tan. It's day already. Cocking his head to the side, he peers at the entrance of the cave and listens.
Flashes of light flicker, blinding him.
Sleep. He shouldn't have allowed Mercy's rhythmic breathing to lull him. Nay, he should have been on watch. Now, because of his carelessness, the serenity of their first morning back is in jeopardy.
"This way," a familiar voice booms. "I'm sure the trail continues here."
Ambrose brushes hair out of her face then gently nudges her.
Her lids fly open, and she stares at him, wild-eyed.
He presses a finger to her lips, to quiet her protest, then points to the mouth of the cave.