Teri McLaren
"It's a remarkable piece. Probably…" Javin wiped at the smudge on the bottom of the clock. It did not come off. Doulos waited patiently for him to finish. "Probably someone loved it," the archaeologist improvised. The smudge looked like a glyph. In fact, it looked like the same glyph that was on Cheyne's amulet.
"Muje, look… your hand." Doulos frowned.
Javin put the chroniclave down. The scorpion sting had flared again badly, despite the cold seawater and the drawing action of the salt. The wound was turning black and would have to be lanced again before they could go on. Javin took out his knife, shoved it hard into the sand several times, then struck his firestone against a rock. He held the knife over the firestone, and slowly put its heated point to the swollen sore.
When favin came to, Doulos was pouring water over his face with a shell. "Don't worry, Muje. It has been only a little while. But the assassin passed not fifty feet away from us, moving toward the mountain. He must be trying to catch up with his party. You should rest a while. They are taking an easy road; the Schreefa is now on her own feet." He chuckled. "She's taking the old caravan route, I think, so your son must still be going that way. It is probably overgrown, but far more passable than the forest."
"I know that route, Doulos. Come on. We're losing the light. I'll be all right. We have to get to Cheyne."