The night was becoming chilled with every step into the forest. My legs were weighted, and each breath felt like scorched earth, yet I could not stop walking. The weight on our heads was crushing us down. With George hot on our heels, I felt we were precariously balanced between the thin tightrope of survival and death.
Avalor's hand still clutched me tightly around my waist, as if he thought I would break apart without his holding me. Maybe I would have. The pregnancy was not just physically tight but emotionally heavy, with every bearing of it reminding me that we had so much more to lose.
We had come to a small stream; Avalor insisted we stop there to get water. He knelt beside the bank, filling a flask. His every movement was precise and quick, always alert to all dangers lurking around us. George was lounging against a tree of unhurried nonchalance, his countenance without care that we were hunted down.
