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Myla
With sexy swimming time cut short, I move onto the next best thing.
Demon Bars.
In short order, Lincoln and I sit around our little campfire, wrapped in blankets from our backpacks. I’ve got mine over my shoulders. Lincoln has his wrapped about his waist, kilt style. I shuck Demon Bars from their wrapper like they’re fresh ears of corn. A small pile of shiny paper soon builds up between my bare feet.
Before us, Peli stands by the fire as he works over a cauldron. He claims it’s dinner, but I’m not taking any chances—which is why I tear open the next Demon Bar in my queue. Nearby, our clothes hang on a branch by the flames. Clean stuff and a full stomach. Things are looking up.
One area where everything is far less than perfect, though: privacy. While we were swimming, Peli co
