Burning lava spewed into the valley, hissing ridley-ridley-ridley as it slid down the mountainside. Men, women, and children scattered, screaming “help-us-thom-as-rid-ley!” their togas flying, their eyes in panic. Even the chickens cackled ridley-ridley-ridley, their flightless wings battering the air. The Forum fell with a great, booming THOM! Dust rose and thickened, whispering, as-ridley-ridley. I awoke from Pompeii to find the noise was real enough. Footsteps were thumping somewhere below. “Thomas Ridley!” came a loud, angry voice, not for the first time, it seemed. “Where are you?” It didn’t take much time to identify the voice of Thomas’s father. It took even less to answer his question. Thomas Ridley’s warm arm lay across my bare belly. His hair pressed into my cheek. I raised my hand and touched his elbow with my fingertips. The day outside was bright and sunny. The oak leaves rustled joyfully against the window. The lone twig prodded the glass as if to say I warned you.
