The crash spread in unpleasant echoes into the gorge formed by the Kiya River in the hollow of the mountains. Darya and her friends, motionless among the trees, listened, attentive. The young Praxis waited for the return of the unhealthy silence which had imprisoned the forest for some time before speaking.
“Are you sure it was a helicopter?”
“Certain,” replied Rempert, in an irrevocable tone. “It has crashed already,” he gestured to a point below. “The river flows right there, a hundred meters from this boulder.”
“Go see what it’s about, please.”
Rempert looked up, worried to hear her suggest that he leave her alone but, by the expression on her face, he said nothing and contented himself with nodding before running down to the river. Darya followed him for a moment, then turned to Bl
