Raven stood in the comparative shelter of the porch, her face turned up toward the sky, eyes closed. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her fingers twisted together compulsively over her stomach.
She was not with the others, rather somewhere out of her body and concentrating on attempting to find Barry's location. Beside her stood her dark, intimidating husband, his mind obviously locked with hers.
Enoch was so like Zendedari that Caitlin could not tear her gaze from him. As she moved onto the porch a step behind Zendedari, she could clearly see that Enoch was furious. He was seething with anger, violence swirling very close to the surface, yet his posture was purely protective. He had placed himself between Raven and the ferocity of the storm.
Kendalf was as still as a statue, his face a blank mask, his silver eyes as empty as death, yet Caitlin gave him a wide berth. There was something dangerous in his utter stillness.
