rumble in the valley. He’d read of lions. Would they live out here? Fear plucked at him, enough to begin to chill the jewel against his chest. But . . . surely there was no water for animals? It was only when the roaring came closer, growing louder and more constant that it dawned on him. It was water, lots of it. His moment of relief was overwhelmed by the realization that he had to get out of the middle of the riverbed, fast.
Like a brown wall it came, thundering closer, as Keilin scrambled for the red rocky slopes, running as fast as he could, calling on the last of his reserves. Minutes later he sat panting on a high rock, looking down on the flood. Soon he dared to creep down and drink the muddy water. Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps he could reach the cool green valleys in the mountains of his dreams.
“What’s yer name, missy?” With a shock the small Princess realized that the shifty looking man was attempting to distract her from his advance. His attempts at surreptitiously edging forward were laughable. Except . . . she didn’t want to laugh. Her stomach muscles tensed, and she reached a small hand up to finger her earlobe. It was all she could do not to run, and not for all the will in the world could she stop herself from biting her lower lip before she replied. Her nervousness had given her an instant to think. If he knew who she was he would see her as a valuable trade item, to be guarded every instant. She’d better play some other part.
Her potential role models were rather limited. If she pretended to be an aristocrat’s daughter it would suggest she had some value, and might be ransomed. The fellow would certainly tie her up . . . It would have to be someone from the lower orders then. A maid perhaps? She had always been attended by maids. She knew that there were also parlor maids and kitchen maids, but she'd never given much attention to any of them. They just were, in the way that air was. You didn’t notice what they did, or how they behaved.