Emberwood please be quiet

The pale boy speaks and trips over his own words. He feels the sweat rolling in slow, winding trails down the back of his neck. The cicadas scream.

I'm sorry, he says, uncertain. It's impossible to know what the boy means. He's just lost. He smells like a pack, and vaguely of bears, though Colin is sure that he is somehow imagining that. There are harder things to conjure up inside your head. Is there any way I can help?

Truth is, he is no more secure in his world than the boy is. Unmoored, swept out to sea, at the whim of God... he knows that he must have faith. He clutches at it, close to his chest, as if it were something alive.