46
PENN
Penn drops to his knees.
Wolfe has vanished, like a wisp of smoke into the breeze. And Penn is Penn again.
For a long time, he kneels just there in the dirt, staring at the empty stretch of dust and moss and stone.
He does not notice Cody, sitting beside him, hour upon hour, though she is a remarkable thing.
No, he doesn’t notice her there until the whiskey-red break of dawn.
Then, he looks up, and sees the bright horizon and the day–as red as blood, as steadfast and shimmering as ruby scales.
And Cody.
Her eyes are hollow and drawn, and she is weeping too.
