WE SET OUT the next morning toward the lake where Dylan had gone for  water. By then, the heat was unbelievable. It seeped up through the uneven mounds of already-hardening lava under our feet, and the ash cloud above us held it in like a blanket. Of course, heat rises, so flying was out of the question. The least-boiling place was on the ground. We were being slow cooked like bird-kid stew, and I was the bitter onion, so mad at Dylan I could spit.
Most of us were doing okay regulating our body temperature—mutant genes, et cetera, et cetera—but poor Akila was looking a little rough. Her tongue hung out of the side of her mouth, but there was none of her signature drool, and she was panting super loud.

- Maximum Ride Forever, Chapter 4