People of Babel (Ark Chronicles 3)
“ “Do you see anyone?” Thebes asked, a burly youth with a thick red mustache hiding his lips. He had a fleshly face and crocodile-like green eyes, unblinking and cruel. Like the others on the steep slope, in this small hollow, he crouched behind a half-buried, mossy boulder. His deerskin garments blended with the pine trees and the needles lying everywhere. Below him, thirty yards down, ran a path, a dirt track, which Beor, they had learned, often used to negotiate to the next valley.
Minos glanced halfway up a tree at Obed, who balanced on a swaying branch. The Hunter had one hand on the trunk as he peered into the distance. Obed shook his grotesque head.
“Beor’s not coming,” Thebes said. “Your plan failed.”
Minos shifted uncomfortably. It was cold in the shadows of these tall firs, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. Beor should have shown by now. Minos chewed the inside of his cheek. Gilgamesh and Enlil should have joined them.
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