“Where are we?!?” she screamed.
“I don’t know, it’s, ah…” he stammered.
“What happened? What did we do?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted. “There’s- there’s a cave up there! Look, right there! We can make it!”
She looked back, eyes wide. “It’s too close, the fire’s too close. We can’t—“
He grabbed her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Yes, we can. Follow me. Don’t think of anything else. Follow me, don’t look back. Got it?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. She breathed rapidly, never blinking. But she nodded.
He turned and raced toward the rocks ahead. There was almost a path, a few rocks with enough grip, a shelf of dirt, a slippery grip, a few scrambles up, and then yes! It was a cave, true and deep. He dove inside. She followed seconds later.
“It is a cave,” she breathed, collapsing beside him. “Oh, this stone is cold. Oh that’s good.”
“We can’t stay here, we’re still too close,” he said, eyeing the entrance. “Come on, get up!”
“It’s cold,” she murmured, eyes closed. “So… beautiful.”
He reached down to grab her. As he did the winds roared and waves of fire crashed against the hillside. Talons of flame lunged in for them, singing the fur on their robes.
She screamed, darting to her feet.
He grabbed her hand and yanked her deeper in the cave. It led down, away from the fire, so they ran heedlessly.
“I hear water!” he shouted.
The cave path descended slowly, then dropped suddenly onto a flat, sandy floor. Light fell in through holes in the cave ceiling, far above. Cutting through the sand ran—
“Water!” She surged across the sand and plunged herself under.
He was seconds behind her. He glanced upward, but the light above revealed no hint of fire. He sighed with relief and let the water swallow him whole.
A long while later they lay dripping on the sand together. A faint, barely warm wind whispered through the cave.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe that.”
“Look, I didn’t—“
“He told you!” she belted. “How could you not know? He told you everything!”
“Not this. The fire, the exile—“
“He told you,” she snapped. “Because you told me. But you told me wrong.”
He stood up and paced away. The sand felt cool between his toes, but gave him no comfort. He looked back towards the entrance.
“I had no idea,” he muttered, “Not that it would be like this.”
He collapsed to the sand. Laying his head on his arms he wept bitterly.
Long moments later she wrapped her arms around him. Her tears joined his, and for a long time the cave echoed with their cries.
“We can never go back,” she sobbed.
“No,” he gulped. “No.”
“Why did we do it?” she whispered.
“Because you wanted to be like him.”
She broke away. “Me? We both did! Don’t you dare put this on me.”
He glared at her, his eyes still wet. “I didn’t believe the lie,” he said. “‘Become like him?’ We already were! How could you—“
“I can’t believe this,” she fumed, stomping away, then turning sharply to face him. “You were there! Right there with me! How can you say it was my fault?”
The cave walls rang with their accusations until light ceased shining. They fell asleep apart from each other, wrapped in their robes for warmth, but finding no rest. A dim light returned in the morning, driving sleep away.
For a while neither spoke. Eventually he said, “We should see if the fire is gone.”
She nodded. He took a few steps toward her, hesitantly, and held out his hand. A moment or two later she took it. They began climbing out.
The rock bore scorch marks the further up they went, but felt cool to the touch. The air still smelled of smoke, yet they heard no hint of wind.
“It’s gone,” he gasped when they reached the entrance. “It’s really gone.”
Ash covered the land to the horizon. Bare trunks of trees poked the sky, where clouds hung thick and gray. They saw no sun. Ribbons of red coals streaked the dust.
“Where are we?” she breathed.
“Nowhere,” he answered. “It’s nothing anymore.”
For a long time neither spoke. There was nothing to say.
“We can’t give up,” he said finally. “We can build a new home.”
She scoffed darkly. “How can we ever have a home again? We’ve lost everything.”
“No,” he countered. “Remember what he said. It’s not over. He said our child will crush its head.”
She stiffened. “And it will speak no more lies?”
“None.”
She breathed deeply, then squeezed his hand.
“If there’s going to be a child,” she said, “then we need a home.”
“Yes.”
They looked to the horizon, hand in hand. A faint ray of sunlight split the ashen clouds, far off in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah. Me, too,” he said. “For everything.”