Chapter 9
Sam is still in the room where I left him. He’s comfortably reclined in the armchair near the lit fire in that enormous fireplace. The logs are crackling like miniature fireworks going off celebrating the 5th of November, relaxing me somehow.
Sam’s wings are folded behind his back, spilling over the back of the chair. His long legs are stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles; his hands are folded over his taut stomach. A half-empty mug of coffee sits on the small table in front of him.
His hair is dry now and the waves on top of his head are more defined, falling over his forehead.
Somewhere along our way back, Tabby vanished, so now it’s just me and Sam in the room.
I expect to hear some mocking from him of my pathetic, failed attempt to escape, but he says nothing
