flee.
DAUGHTER (to self) : They tried to leave.
FATHER : But he bore down upon them.
( Pause. )
And through their midst.
( Pause. )
Through the dying fire.
The snow grew red with their blood.
( Pause. )
Then all became quiet.
The wind blew.
The snow drifted.
He lay in silence.
He had become cold.
Dark Pony walked over to him, and he nudged him with his nose.
( Pause. )
And he neighed.
( Pause. )
And he licked his face.
( Pause. )
Slowly he opened his eyes.
( Pause. )
He looked up above him.
Dark Pony was standing there.
( Pause. )
“Oh, Dark Pony,” he said . . .
( Pause. )
“I thought you had forgotten me.”
( Pause. )
DAUGHTER : Are we almost home yet?
FATHER : Yes.
(Pause.)
(To self) Down from the mountains.
Down.
Across the hills.
Across the prairies.
DAUGHTER : . . . Because I remember how it sounds.
FATHER : You do?
DAUGHTER : The road.
FATHER : Yes.
We are almost there.
DAUGHTER (to self) : ‘Cause I remember how it sounds.
FATHER : . . . Down in the Valleys—he would look above and see his friend there.
DAUGHTER (to self) : . . . Just before we get home.
Pause.
FATHER (to self) : “Dark Pony, Rain Boy calls to you.”
Pause.
DAUGHTER : We are almost home.
Clive Cussler, Paul Kemprecos
Janet Morris, Chris Morris