Ross leaped upon that surprise, adding it to his
stock of unseen weapons.
He leaned forward, still grinding his torn hand against the rock as a
steadying influence, took up a length of dried wood, and thrust its end
into the fire. Having once used fire to save himself, he was ready and
willing to do it again, although at the same time, another part of him
shrank from what he intended.
Holding his improvised torch breast-high, Ross stared across it,
searching the land for the faintest sign of his enemies. In spite of the
fire and the light he held before him, the dusk prevented him from
seeing too far. Behind him the crash of the surf could have covered the
noise of a marching army.
"Come and get me!"
He whirled his brand into bursting life and then hurled it straight into
the drift among the dunes. He was grabbing for a second brand almost
before the blazing head of the first had fallen into the twisted,
bleached roots of a dead tree.
He stood tense, a second torch now kindled in his hand.
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