“Where’s Annabel, Christopher?” I asked.
“On your right, sir.”
“Unconscious?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lentala lay collapsed in my arms. The rain of mud from the canopy pattered and splashed about us. The ground was still, and there was hardly a sound except the slimy drip.
“The volcano has stopped, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
I asked the next question in the conviction that I had been stricken blind: “Is there any light at all?”
“No, sir.”
Lentala clutched me. “I’m glad, Choseph! I thought I was blind.”