The day after they had arrived on Baston Island was peaceful. Eric and Delia walked down the long, empty stretch of beach, the soft white sand cool beneath their bare feet. It was already midday, and the sun, which had been bright and warm all morning, was beginning to hide behind a gathering of dark, heavy clouds rolling in from the horizon.
Delia looked up at the sky, a thoughtful expression on her face. "The sky is getting dark, just like it did yesterday," she said. "But it never actually rained then."
"Yes, I noticed," Eric replied, his own gaze fixed on the ominous clouds.
Just as he spoke, Delia felt a single, cool drop of rain land on her bare arm. Then another. She turned to him, a small, concerned frown on her face. "Your Grace," she began.
