“I thought we had more time,” the silent boy chimes in.

He walks up to me and the sobbing boy on the ground, shaking his head. The little girl is close by.

“The storm must have scared them off,” the silent boy speculates, “The caravans were here not a day ago…”

“I misjudged, I am sorry,” the silent boy bows his head.

“No,” the little girl hurriedly pats the silent boy’s arm.

He raises his head and snickers, “These damn clouds, I thought they were a blessing from the heat, turns out, they only hid what needed to be seen…”

I get up, jerking the sobbing boy’s arms around my neck. He jolts forward, struggling to keep hold of me. His head rests on my shoulder, it seems he is trying to calm himself or, just embarrassed. I can see a slight pink tint on his neck and ears. Muffled sobbing could be heard from him.

He is going to dehydrate at this rate.

I squeeze him, the hardest I can, and whisper:

“Thank you for helping me, I feel safe with you…”

“Please stay by my side,” I whisper in his ear.

His sobbing stops. He looks at me. I smile at him. He slowly nods, credulous.

*Thunder*

*Rumble*

“Well, we all have each other from now on,” the silent boy starts, “Let us move on into one of these tents before we are drenched from the coming rains.”

The little girl follows the silent boy into a nearby hut. I follow suit, hauling the once sobbing, now clingy, boy with me.

This hut is suffocating.

The inside is so compact; it is a wonder how the Seniors fit. We four are small children, yet we sit knee to knee. Nothing but a bucket was in the hut, before kicked outside by the little girl. The hut’s flap closes.

“We are going to have to make our way back by foot,” the silent boy begins with a sigh.

“Must we?” I reply, whilst fiddling the clingy boy’s fingers. He sits close, his hand in mine. How persistent; when will he unlatch himself?

He must have taken the whole, “Please stay by my side,” to heart.

“Well, as much as the Seniors mistreat us, we sadly cannot survive out here without them…” the silent boy glances at our twiddling fingers and continues on with another sigh, “Hah, we may seem capable to you based on what little you just witnessed, but I can assure you, we learned this much due to past experience, that we just do not have to live off this land on our own.”

Light rain starts beating against the hut.

“I see, then I will follow your lead, if you permit me,” I say, listening in to the steady beats of the rain grow in intensity, “You will find no resistance in me…”

“Hgnh!” my angel is in pain.

Ah!

My ears start ringing.

Angel!

I clench my teeth.

“Who is that?” the clingy boy mutters.

A figure is outlined at the entrance of the tent. The shadow leans in; only a thin layer of fabric separates it from us.

“A Senior?” the clingy boy is hopeful.

“No!” the little girl hisses.

A moist, thin-like arm reaches into the tent. Purple veins pulsate. The arm is overcome with an outer layer of vein, forming what thickness there is to the arm. No skin can be seen, just a mash of vena and organ. No nails are there. No form. No fingers.

A low, deep hiss is heard. The arm pulls the hut’s flap apart. What seems like a man’s bare body stands in the rain. The chest and legs are long and threadlike. They are a throbbing mess of vena and flesh. The one-armed creature shifts its body downwards. A snake’s head bulges into the tent. It entwines itself against the corners of the hut. Moving amongst the children.

The snake is the veinous body. This creature enters the tent and closes the hut’s flap.