"You're extinguishing my glow," he replied, taking a step back.
Cinder saw the seed fall into the Ash Bog, a dead zone between the peaks and the depths. Without thinking, he plunged down the mountainside, melting a trail behind him. Aquaria felt the disturbance in the water—a tremor of heat and pain—and rose to the surface for the first time in a hundred years.
"And I don't like boiling," she replied, her body now dotted with tiny, warm glowing spots—a gift from his. lava boy water girl
They met at the edge of the Ash Bog. He stood on a cooling slab of basalt; she rose from a steam vent in a pillar of liquid grace.
"I don't do 'together,'" he grumbled, though his lava flickered with embarrassment. "You're extinguishing my glow," he replied, taking a
"You will," she said, "or we'll both drown in this stupid puddle."
Cinder lived in the Ember Peaks, a volcanic wasteland where the sky rained ash and the rivers flowed with liquid rock. He was loud, impulsive, and hot-tempered—literally. When he laughed, sparks flew. When he cried, hot lava seeped from his eyes and hardened into obsidian tears. He was lonely. Every rock he touched turned to glass. Every living thing he tried to hold withered to cinders. The other fire creatures respected his power, but they feared his wild heart. Aquaria felt the disturbance in the water—a tremor
"You know," she said, "they're going to call us Lava Boy and Water Girl."