Eevy Menkos licked her finger and jabbed it skyward. Her tongue flicked between her lips. Her eyes narrowed in concentration. Then she yipped, kicked her heels together and took a running leap over the rosebush. She skidded left and right along the path. The patio door banged shut behind her.
Wind blew along the corridors, crackling with heat. It snuck moisture from the bricks. In its wake it left the crinkled skeletons of once-green ivy. A girl stumbled along with the wind. Tears and snot wet her cheeks and upper lip, transforming into salt-crusted trails as the wind dried them.
Solia Faris slammed on the brakes of her armored jeep, released the seat harness, and launched herself out the driver’s side door. She tumbled down a steep grade, bounced, rolled, and then slammed to a stop against a pillar of goraxian rock. Solia spat blood from her mouth and scrunched into a ball.
Wind danced through the tuskar trees. It rustled their leaves, flowing in eddies around ebony-skinned trunks. It flooded up the meadows and surged into the canyons between Kezzor and Azzorim, gaining speed
She put her hand on Miss Dorman’s desk. It felt cool and smooth. Her skin left sweat marks where it touched. The ruler whistled down. Whap! Whap!
Pirate Oliver stood at the helm of the Rapscallion, wind ruffling through his fine brown hair and fake beard. Standing on a barrel beside him, squat, pink, and wearing an eyepatch, was his talking pig Fortingras.