“Come on, work!” whispered Carey shaking the Orb gently in the dark as the cold wind numbed his fingers.
It was pitch black outside, the storm was raging hard and the winds howled like wailing banshees. The Princess was sleeping in a foetal position, curled up on his lap. Ram was huddled up too close around the embers of the dead fire. Only Carey was awake and struggling to make the Orb work. Occasionally, he would place the Orb down and rub his palms together to warm them up. He was frustrated and began to wonder what if he had missed something? The last of the embers were about to go out and the little light they had in the cave was dying - soon it would be dark and cold. Carey finally gave up and closed his eyes-he couldn’t carry on anymore-the cold was paralyzing …
Back on the train,
