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The Meteorologist and the BiotsCLARA DROVE IN SILENCE, a vertical crease bisecting her brow. Her hands gripped the wheel, as she was mulling over the news. Lupianne and Vincent had taken place on the back seat, covering their faces as best they can.
They had reached the plateau, a sandy desert where wind-created dusts devils waltz. Farther north, the Ubu roared like a caged beast in the canyon dug in the soft layers of sediments, before jumping from the cliff.
Lupianne’s nose protruded from her tightened hood: the winds whipped it with a vengeance. Her eyes were two slits. She had kept conversation at a minimum, each word parching her throat. Clara, who had a spare parka with her, and Sabian, his suit including a hood with a visor, were better protect
