March on. Do not tarry. To go forward is to move toward perfection. March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life's path. - Kahlil Gibran
The pod surfaces the waters of Chase Pond. Water ripples around the craft. It's making a whirling noise.
Morph jumps in and curls up at my cold, wet feet. Vlad slides in beside me, drawing me into his arms. The top slides closed, and the cabin pressurizes.
Stern eyes watch me. Turning away, I avoid his smoldering gaze.
The pod takes off, making its descent. He shifts his weight. Images fill the pod overhead
John Spencer and several men comb the grounds of the pond.
I shiver. Drawing me closer to his warm body, he cradles me against his chest in a tender embrace. He kisses the top of my head.
"Well, are you going to tell me wha
