THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

twenty-two

Camouflage.

Lale turned to Bradley, ready to compliment him on his building skills, before he remembered the other man's warning and clamped his jaw shut. Bradley himself had started climbing a rope (which looked like braided ferns to him) onto the platform, his movements speaking of experience.

He turned to face Amelia, who was staring at the rope like it was Mount Everest. She was still holding that dagging egg, and Lale had to fight to not roll his eyes. Each to their own, he sighed reluctantly. She may as well keep it, especially since we nearly died for it.

For the first time, it hit him how close to death they had both been. If Bradley hadn't been there ... Lale didn't want to finish the thought. He gazed back at his friend, who was shrugging off his bow and arrow and entering the house without a glance in their direction.

"Looks like he won't be helping," Lale whispered. In the enclosed space, it sounded louder, and he winced, hoping Bradley hadn't heard.

Amelia tilted her head, still eyeing the rope, then gazing at the building. Which was made out of dinosaur bones. Lale wondered, briefly, whether she would have a problem with that. Still, a house's a house, and I don't mind if I do ... He'd been in worse, after all.

He gripped the rope, which felt like it would give way at any moment, and began climbing hand-over-hand until he could grip onto the wooden platform and haul himself up. Lale dried the leaf juices from his hands onto the grey suit, before he heard an "Ahem."

Lale glanced back down at Amelia, who held the rope in one hand, egg in the other. He felt his ears heat — and she was injured, too! Dropping to his knees like it was his idea in the first place, he extended a hand down to her. "Hand the egg to me."

The woman rolled her eyes to the heavens, before reaching on her tiptoes — Lale didn't miss her grimace of pain — to hand the smooth white object to him. He gripped its surprisingly rough surface tightly, not keen to learn what Amelia would do to him if he dropped it, before laying it down on the wood beside his knee and offering his hand to her again.

She took it, and he felt an unnecessary twinge of relief that both of their hands were sweaty, and it wasn't just him who was suffering in the humidity.

Lale pulled her up with an internal grunt — he knew from experience what women did when they thought they were heavy — and helped her onto the platform, trying not to cause her further discomfort as she winced. His eyes glanced over her back, and he exhaled sharply at the sight of ripped material and bleeding skin.

"You need to get that cleaned," he murmured quietly, concerned, especially in their situation. Who knew; maybe the bacteria was as deadly as the Tyrannosaurus rex. (One thing that he liked JEE for; it taught him that they would not be facing the famous predator. He had millions of years of evolution to thank for that.)

"I know." Amelia climbed to her feet, dusting her knees off. She was holding the egg again. She straightened and squared him in the eye. "You see any First Aid kits nearby?"

Lale shrugged in response, understanding he'd set himself up for her dry sarcasm. He turned to the open door of the abode, resigned. His chest tightened a little. Since when was he wary of talking with Bradley?

Since he decided to go Tarzan on us, a bitter thought answered. He brushed it away and entered the house, which was surprisingly well-lit despite the leaves covering every inch of the exterior frame. He appraised the inside, and, despite his surprise at how cosy it looked despite lacking furniture, his heart only dipped further and further.

If Bradley had had time to carve figurines from bone (at least, he thought it was bone) and assemble every detail of the shelter — from the vines hanging down from the ceiling, seemingly for no reason at all, and the additional bow and multiple arrows — then how long had he truly been stuck in the Jurassic Period?