I couldn't help noticing how strange Raven's hand felt in mine. There was something different about his skin, almost like soft down. A foolish thing to be thinking about, but somehow it helped me believe he'd get us home.
Raven kept talking, his voice deep and resonant, like the holiest of holies in the oldest cathedral, painting a picture in our minds, a picture of our home. A home we could believe in.
A high pitched keening noise began, vibrating in my brain. I desperately wanted to cover my ears, block it out, but I forced myself to hold on.
