The mountain had been sending up the odd puff of white smoke for days now and life in the town continued as normal. No one noticed the mountain. Until the earthquake struck and the small white cloud turned into a boiling hot mass of grey and rock and ash and fire and poured in an unrelentless mass toward the town.
K, then L, then me, then Jesse. Four tired teenagers thrown into a journey we started but were reluctant to pursue. That started when we were naïve and was now ending in front of something giant and magnificent and absolutely spectacular.
The postcard sat, wedged under one leg of the bed, just behind Dalia's heal. She stared at it, willing herself into the sun-splashed mountains instead of the edge of Aviv's bed, waiting for him to get out of the shower so she could have this dreaded conversation
( ... )
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All that was left to do was to leap.
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