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Mayra followed Nithel to the stream and cupped her hands in it, feeling the coolness of it. She drank thirstily, the dryness of her throat slowly recovering.

She heard a ripping sound and turned to see Nithel ripping his shirt. Her mouth fell open as he tore a large piece of it away. What was he-?

She felt the blood drip down her nose and her head cleared. Oh. Was that for her?

As he moved towards her with the fabric, a question blurted from her throat. She couldn’t understand why she was talking so much. What was going on? “Is Dewos real?”

He stopped, looking at her questioningly. She clenched her fists, heat rising up her neck. “Dewos – the – you know –  Creator? Is he real – or no?”

She had no idea why she was asking this boy such a ridiculous question. How was he supposed to know? Heck they probably weren’t even from the same world. She hated the fact that as always, her speech came out limited and strained, in stops and starts. But strangely, she didn’t feel embarrassed around Nithel.

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