"Great work, Stag." The masked man, who was standing behind me, handed down a golden cup filled with dark red wine. "You really held your own back there."
"Thanks." I raised the cup. "You're not so bad yourself."
I was sitting by a campfire, deep in the jungle--miles from Heavenless. Thundercloud had landed here after our flight, smack in the middle of a rebel encampment operated by the Heaven Liberation Front.
Just then, M.J. strolled over, the gold buckles and epaulets on his military jacket gleaming in the firelight. "Good news," he said softly. "They say he's going to be all right."
"That's fantastic." The masked man filled another cup with wine but didn't offer it to M.J. Instead, he tipped it to his own lips and drank. "I wasn't sure he'd come out of it after hibernatin
