Concussive thunder pounded against the doors and windows, startling both breakfasters. Without either noticing, the warm rays of sun that had brought them together disappeared behind looming storm clouds.
Emma stood, a motion so quick, Michael barely registered her movement. “We must retreat to the cellar.”
Her insistence gave no room for argument or delay.
Her firm grip pulled Michael into the pantry, through a hidden door behind shelves of canned goods and down a long flight of slick, mossy steps. The cavern she had called a cellar had entrances everywhere with people filing in one by one. Damp walls grew luminescent lichen; twinkling glow worms lit up the ceiling like a hundred thousand stars. A quiet flow of water created cold humidity, reminding Michael of his adventures spelunking.
At last secure in her surroundings, Emma stopped, settling onto a bench carved from a stalagmite. “The storms here often bring the Destroyer with them. Our protector will come and let us know when it is safe again.”