From Charles's perspective, Kaira was dead.
Sprawled face-down on the ground, her red tunic a mess, smeared with dirt and green grass, she was the closest thing to a corpse he'd seen in a while.
She'd attempted the one-handed roll for the umpteenth time, and the result was the same:
A spectacular faceplant.
Charles, sitting a few meters away, was sweaty too, his black tunic clinging to his skin.
In his hands, he held the chocolate ice cream container, now half-melted, and though he kept scooping with the plastic spoon, the sugar was starting to hit him with an uncomfortable buzz.
'This stuff's too good,' he thought, taking another bite, 'but I'm one spoonful away from a sugar coma…'
He glanced at Kaira, still motionless, propped on her hands with her messy black hair falling over her face.
The sun was dipping, painting the sky a soft orange as night crept in.
Charles grumbled to himself, annoyed at how late it was getting.
