The only light streaming in came from the room she guessed to be Cage’s bedroom. There was a hole in the floor, nothing else; where it led she had no clue. It was built for a man to relieve himself in. She was miserable, wet, she stunk, and she was scared. And she wondered if the dinosaur was still in the bedroom. Never in her wildest thoughts had she wondered a question like that. There’s a dinosaur in the bedroom and it ain’t cheery or purple. I bet it doesn’t even sing. Cyra had been curled in a ball for a while. She wasn’t prone to tears, she was dry-eyed but sad. Her life was over. She would never get home, never have a family or find love. If the planet wasn’t in possession of any space flight, there was no hope of escape. Everything around her seemed so primitive. Cage’s home was built in the side of a mountain and cold. Everything was hard, just like him. There wasn’t anything vaguely resembling clothes she could change into.
