By dawn, the storm had calmed down. The Nimbus cloud that had cloaked the southern peaks of Alta-Tierra drew back at last, dissolving like a pale veil lifted from a bride's face.
A thin blade of white light pierced through the canopy of green, scattering across the damp forest floor. It fell upon Lara's face — her lashes quivered, her skin glowed faintly beneath the sun's first touch, and her lips, dry and cracked, parted with a faint murmur.
Half-dreaming, she raised a trembling hand to shield her eyes. When she blinked away the glare, she found herself staring into the sharp, assessing gaze of a man in fatigues. His hair was cropped close to his head, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and a gun hung from his side.
"What's a little girl doing out here, in the heart of the forest?" he asked, voice deep but laced with curiosity.
