"Don't step there."
The low voice sounded hoarse, unused. The doll's head raised as Lost looked at Isis.
"There's a bug."
Strange were his habits, and even stranger were his words. His darkly tanned fingers held his book, and he seemed to be deep into the story. Yet he had been able to tell the woman that there was a small critter on the ground, and informed her not to step on it.
Without closing the book he raised his black eyes to look at the tiny bug, his expression blank. Lost sat in the corner of the kitchen, right beside the door. His dark hair was falling into his face, and his dark eyes were emotionless as he reclined. Lost turned his black eyes away from Isis and back to his leather-bound book.
"Don't step on it."