That night, Manama left with the two original pack snakes and the company resituated their travel goods on the new snakes along with the prisoner.

Since the sandy great cloaks covered all of the visible body, they needed only to strip the corpses of that one item. After that, the six of them adorned the cloaks and stored the other three as spares.

“Will dis work?” asked Cirin as the sands rushed passed him.

Azhar peered back at him and then the prisoner directly across from the boy.

“It will, mouse.” Reassured the man.

Cirin tilted his head over the edge of the snake carriage. Below him, the golden desert flushed by impossibly fast. He could hear the howling and he deafening screech of the sand flow in the distance. Both the sound and the speed at which the sand traveled made him nauseous. Normally the sand did not travel so fast, but these snakes made it seem so in the rate they were slithering.

He tilted his head further. The other snake was close behind, forming silhouettes with the setting sun. He hadn’t noticed it earlier during the first sandflow with the new snakes, but now a day since he was certain. These legless limps were racing.

“If Caterine’s plan works, we’ll be in da bazaar witout so much as a poke from dese desert demons.” Finished Azhar.

“And Manama?” prodded Cirin. “Couldn’t we have fought off any attackers?”

The man threw him a glance, “I don’t like it eida mouse, know dat. But dere be dangahs wit attacks. Toftof, Manama, Caterine, and I can fend fa ourselves, even you and Taba ta some extent, but I can make no gurantees bout da prince.”

Cirin let his mouth go agape. How could he have been so dull?

“Ya see mouse, back in Gin when da first of Jegga’s men attacked us we fought excellently. But didn’t stop one man from throwing a knife at da prince. No amount of our effort could’ve stopped dat.” Azhar reached a hand down to the Ram-horn’s head and lightly tapped it’s let brow. Soon the ramhorn itself swerved left, prompting the one behind it to do so as well, “Every fight we get inta is a risk. Dun be forgettin dat, mouse. Dat be why I agreed ta let Manama go.”

“And him?” pointed Cirin, “Isn’t he a risk?”

Azhar laughed from where he stood, “unfortunately, yes. But he be our only chance at findin who hired dese goons.”

“What? Who? Where am I?”

“Ah.” Breathed Azhar, “Looks ta me da spirits heard us talking, eh?”

The man struggled a bit, but upon realising his constraint he merely swallowed and tossed his eyes between the man the boy.

“You’re not going ta kill me now are you? Please oh please don’t!” he pleaded.

“Relax mon, we got a few questions fa ya.” Started Azhar.

“I know nothing!” cried the man, “Please believe me, I only joined dem as a chronicler.”

“A chronicler?” asked Cirin.

Azhar sighed up front, “Right, Jegga always insisted a chronicler be wit his men during da attacks. Something about ratin da perfomence of his men in da field.” Azhar spat of the snake, “Part of da reason I left dat crew.”

“Y-y-you were a member of Jegga’s bandits?” stuttered the man.

“For a few months yes.” Confirmed Azhar, “dough now ya need ta be da one answerin’. Who hired ya people to hunt da prince.”

The man shook his head furiously, “I dun know!” he insisted.

“Oi mouse, reach in his pockets fa his book. If he be tellin da truth…”

The man smiled dumbly at the mention of being believed.

“…Den he is a chronicler, sa he should have a book on him.” Completed Azhar.

The man let his head fall as he realised that was what his captor had meant.

Cirin scrunched up close to the man, who smelled something awful. IT was an indiscrete odour somewhere between urine and morning breath. Pinching his nose, Cirin searched through the man front pockets of his jacket. Before long the boy produced a neatly bounded papyrus book. As he pulled it out, a locket swept out of the same pocket.

Cirin picked up the locket with a glance thrown at the man. He hadn’t noticed. Cirin tossed his eyes to Azhar. His master hadn’t witnessed the theft either. He pocketed the glistening thing as he read aloud the words written on the cover.

“An Account of my Callous Companions… Volume One.” Slurred the boy.

“You weren’t fond of ya friends, eh?” spoke up Azhar.

“Dey weren’t my friends.” Whimpered the man, “Work acquaintances that happened ta be illiterate.”

“Surely Jegga would’ve objected?”

“Actually, Lord Jegga loved my naming methods.” Brightened the man, soon downing his head once more in light of his current situation, “Said it brought joy to dis mundane business.”

Azhar nudged his head at Cirin to continue.

“Meritel and Gonza went to da loo dis morning and-”

“Mouse. Read out da important bits.” complained Azhar.

Cirin nodded, flipping through the pages as he quickly scanned each one. Much of it proved to be a simple account of that particular bandit platoon. What they ate, their training regimens, scouting reports, and the like. Finally he came across something of note.

The boy cleared his throat, “ ‘Heard da boys arguing about da current employers again. Ifris insisted da moral implications be ma converning dan da actions, yet Gonza made adamant ta how Ifris’s previous claim ta how bandit morales reflected da teachings of da philosipher H. H Abrah were absurd.”

“Stop dere mouse.” Instructed Azhar. He turned his head over to the prisoner, “So ya do know about ya employer.”

Again the man shook his head, “I only heard dem talking about it. I swear!”

“And what exactly did ya hear?”

“No no no!” puffed the man, “Do ya have any idea what Lord Jegga will do to my cousins if he learns about what I said?”

Azhar narrowed his eyes for the slightest display of agitation, “Do ya have any idea what I’ll do to you?”

The man practically screeched as he drew his breath inward. “Fine. Do what you will. Just don’t kill me. And fa da love of da spirits, keep dat woman away from me! Anyting, but dat monsta!”

“She’s gone mon.” revealed Cirin. “We parted ways.”

“Gone? Gone! Wondaful! Oh spirits.” Wept the man, smiling to the sky, “when did I eva doubt ya? I mean…” he gulped returning his gaze to the boy and the and, “I’m sorry a ya lose. She is dead right?”

“No.” puffed Cirin, “She isn’t.”

The lie practically drained from his face when Azhar managed to sigh again.

“Sand flows endin’.” Noted the man, “Mouse, fetch Toftof.”

Azhar and Toftof began conversing by the lead snake when they stopped after the sand flow. Cirin snuck up to them as they talked. The topic of that talk seemed unavoidable.

“Should we torture him?” asked Toftof.

“He if dun talk, we’ll have to.” Nodded Azhar.

“Nasty business dat, torture.”

“But one dat provides results. We’ll do it tomorrow, I’ll caterine watch ova da kids while you and I ‘escort’ our man to safe distance away from dem.” Continued Azhar.

Cirin reached into his pocket while the two men went over the details of their plot. He pulled out the locket and flipped the golden thing open. Aside from its surprisingly ornate crest and clear glass cover, Cirin found the curious image of a long haired woman in the center of the device. She had maple eyes and a face that was seemingly sculpted. How a man as pig nosed and cowardly as their prisoner could be related in anyway to the woman in the locket was beside him.

Cirin found himself sighing as he snapped the locket shut. The fact was, this woman was important enough that he carried her with him wherever he went. The man, who’s name they had not even known, was about to be tortured simply for the fact that he was on the wrong side. Cirin balled his hands. He didn’t even have a weapon. In a strange, unholy way, that man was yet another Sol. A weak, unfortunate thing, born to the wrong family at the wrong time.

Cirin stepped out from behind the snake. Azhar and Toftof noticed him immediately.

“Mouse?” questioned the man.

Cirin licked his lips and levied his eyes on Azhar, “I have an idea.” He said. “Do you know of the place between you and I?”

“Bloody magic.” Spat toftof.

Azhar rolled his eyes at his friend and nodded at the boy, “We know of it.”

“Instead of torturing the man, why not use the place between you and I on him?”

“Mouse, we need information from him. If he won’t talk ta us here, why would he talk us in a dark magical room?”

“What if he wasn’t talking ta one of us?” pointed out Cirin.

Before the man could question this line of thinking the boy once again withdrew the locket. He clicked it open and smiled as both men immediately knew what he was thinking.

But there was one problem. An issue he dared not bring up amidst his victory with the two. He hadn’t a clue as to how to change forms in the place between you and I.

He thought it a simple feat he’d decipher with a meeting with the voice. Though to his disappointment, the disembodied thing had never heard of such sorcery. A similar discourse with Catherine also proved fruitless which left him with only one unfortunate option.

“I need ya help.” He sighed at the girl.

To say Taba was smug upon hearing that would have been a gross understatement. The girl was positively brimming with an unkempt and nefarious joy.

“My help?” she glutted with glee.

“Yes yours.” Said Cirin trailing behind the girl.

Taba had now forced the boy to follow her for seventh time as she aimlessly circled the pack snakes.

“Well I could help ya, but ya also happen ta be my adversary. What would I gain from making my enemy stronga?”

“Dis isn’t about us.” Averred Cirin, “I need ta learn how ta change forms in a place between you and I so I can interrogate da prisona.”

“And why don’t dey just torture him?” argued Taba.

“Because I’ve already told dem dat I could do dis.”

“Admit it den. Ya just be needin my help sa you can earn deir approval.”

Cirin’s brow twitched and his feet stopped abruptly, “I’ll figure it out myself.” He declared.

“Wait.”

Cirin crossed his arms. Taba sighed.

“I dun know how ta do it.” She conceded. “But I know ya need me fa it.” She lifted a finger, “You’re missing someting important if ya hope to impersonate dat woman.”

Cirin lowered his head on his hand to think. The greatcloak could be used as cover for the woman’s body, and he could be sitting to disguise her height. The only thing he was missing was…

Taba ever so smug voice beat him to it, “Ya dun know how she sounds.”

“And you do?”

Taba nodded, drawing a look that was a little more than skeptical from the boy.

“It’s hard ta explain.” She began, “My sista always said my eyes gave me mo abilities dan just my magic. Tings I neva really got ta learn about because of Barra...” She lowered her gaze and kept one arm on her elbow. “One of dese abilities lets me share da dreams of dose around me.”

The boy thought back after hearing that. For once, he was glad he rarely dreamt.

Taba met his eyes, “I saw his dream.” She confessed, “The prisoner’s. I walked trough it. Felt it. I heard her voice, but didn’t see her face. Dough if he carried a locket wit a face on it, I’m sure it was her’s.”

“How ya know about dat?”

Taba shrugged, “I saw ya talking ta dose two. Dat woman is his cousin.”

“So.” Concluded Cirin, “Ya saying we bot have da pieces ta dis, but neida of us know how ta transform in da place?”

“No.” hushed Taba. She let her grin turn into a confident one, “Not yet.”

For the days following the two enemies formed a makeshift alliance. It was unspoken, but held sacred for their purpose. Every moment, every spare minute they had to themselves whilst traveling on the ramhorns, they spent communing with each other in the place between you and I. Convincing Azhar for more time on the matter had been surprisingly easy. In his own words, ‘If ya two found a way ta work togedda, I’d give my whole lifespan ta see it’.

At first, Cirin found it slightly discouraging Taba held the reins whenever they entered, yet he learned to reconcile that with his own need to interrogate the chronicler.

After just three days of experimenting, Cirin awoke to the sight of Taba sitting with one knee up across from him.

“Dis is hopeless!” she spat, “How does Manama do dis?”

Cirin spied the sky, the reddened thing was dimming once more.

“She once told me dat magic be simple.” He declared.

“It’s not.” A blunt riposte.

“What if it is?” started the boy, “She also called transforming in da place a ‘trick’, as if it were a con.”

“You kids talkin bout cons, eh?”

The duo tossed their heads at the man in front. He was quieter those days without Manama constantly taunting him. The desert wind howled by and the imp cleared his throat.

“I may not know da finah points about magic-”

“Wouldn’t tink so.” Butted Taba.

“But.” Asserted Toftof, “I know how ta handle a con. We sandrats are mastahs of trickery. Ta pull off a con ya need ta figure out da perfect lie.” Toftof jabbed his chest with his thumb whilst he handled the snakes reins with his other hand, “Trust my words as da man known as da liar. Da best way to sully da truth is ta make sure ya believe ya lie, just long enough fa ya ta deliver it.”

“Believe ya own lie?” repeated Cirin. He lowered his head with his hand on his chin. Then he tossed his eyes at Taba, “Taba.” he called.

“Degenerate.”

“I’ve been tinking a lot about our arrangement.”

Taba shifted, quick to glance at Toftof before responding, “Does dis need ta mentioned now?”

Cirin nodded, “Based on ya skill, ya ability wit da blade, I need confess my hesitation.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Cirin continued, “I tink dat… I tink ya going ta win.”

Taba’s smile was thing of pure wickedness. Never had the grin of a child, a priestess no less, held so much unkempt joy in the perceived domination of another soul. That grin, however, lasted all but two ticks of a clock. It’s departure was marked by a knowing frown.

“You’re lying.” Realised the fool.

Cirin snickered where he sat, and shook his head in a vain attempt to stop himself, “Sorry Tof, I tried ya method, but I couldn’t convince myself of da lie.”

Toftof smiled back at him and for once Cirin spotted an expression on the man he had not seen before. For a moment, the sandrat lieutenant appeared refined. Content even.

“Rare ta hear ya laugh, boy.” He hummed, returning his gaze ahead of him, “Ya laugh da same as an old friend of mine.”

Cirin pushed his back against the wall, “Ya won’t hear me laugh again wit comments like dat, mon.”

“I get it, I get it.” Waved the man, “Silence it is, eh?”

Cirin found himself staring at Taba after that. She had her eyes glued well ahead of her. Dirt hugged her coat, yet her face remained immaculately clean. She had the odd habit of using some of her share of the drinking water to wash after all. It made the black lines that stretched from her eyelids to the crest of her forehead brilliantly glisten. The rest of that tattoo from the forehead onwards vanishing behind the thin layer of chocolate hair she had growing.

He was going to win. Yet to say he was absolutely certain of that outcome would have been a lie in ernest. He wondered just how she saw him as he glared on lazily. Who was he to her in her mind’s eye? Who was he to her in reality?

“We lie to ourselves.” He mouthed the words. He lowered his eyes at his own blistered palm.

Slowly, he let the light of the desert wash from his sight. His eyelids lowered and his breathing calmed. Toftof, out of all his companions, had given him an idea. He licked his lips.

“I consent.”

Black. The room before him was darkened as expected. He was sitting down. As expected. Yet the figure ahead of him remained eerily still. Even more so, it was exactly who he’d seen staring back at him in the drinking water that morning. He sat in a room with himself.

Cirin waved one arm to test it, and his other self waved back. He blinked. It blinked.

“I’m going ta lie to you.” Said two identical voices at once. “My name is Azhar.”

The figure ahead of him shifted in a blackened veil. By the time he blinked again, the figure itself had turned to the old mon. Cirin stared at his hand. It was wrapped fro mthe stab wound Azhar suffered just days ago.

“It worked.” Said two Azhars, “It worked.”

He stood up abruptly to find Taba studying him in the real world. She glanced away almost immediately when he saw her.

“Taba, lets enta da place between you and I.”

“You tink of something in ya sleep?”

Cirin smiled. “It wasn’t sleep.”

It was already night by the time the sandflow seized. Cirin’s feet studded the ground as he happily swaggered to the front snake.

Azhar was waiting for him, “Dis betta work, mouse. Someting goes wrong, I’m pulling ya out, one way or da udda.”

“It’ll work.” Said the boy, stopping before the prisoner, “And I know dere only be one udda way ta stop da ritual.” He levied his eyes on the prisoner. He doubted the man understood the gravity of that other way.

“Chronicler, I’d like ta talk ta ya.” Started Cirin.

The man rose his head sadly, “I- I have a name.” he tried, “Cassal.”

“It’s about ya logs.” Interjected Cirin, “I plan ta do da same ting when I get olda.” He lied, “Care ta talk wit me?”

Cassal shrugged, “Of my work? Ya be an admirer of it? Well, despite my regrettable condition, I’ll try my best ta entertain ya.”

And that was consent enough. Before long Cassal reawakened in a darkened room. His bounds had vanished and ahead of him sat the figure of a woman covered in a great cloak.

“Mephit? Is dat you? Spirits!”

“Dun stand.” Ordered the woman, “If you do, dis magic will fade.”

“Magic? Mephit, are you alright? Listen, I’ve been captured! Oh but forget about me, you need ta run. Rememba what da ma taught us.”

“What happened?”

“Brigands I’m afraid. Not a rival gang, but I fear da worst. Dey killed da rest of my team and captured me fa questionin, but I didn’t reveal anyting. I knew ya would be in dangah if I did.”

“Ya mean reveal anyting bout who sent ya?”

Cassal paused.

“Mehpit, forgive me fa asking, but…” Cassal lowered his brows, “Who told ya dat?”

Cirin stumbled, “Ma. Ma told me.”

Cassal’s shaking head made Cirin realize his mistake.

“Ma’s been dead fa years. Dis magic.” Cassal glanced around, “Yes I’ve heard of it. Da Cleva man’s Council. Ya not Mehpit are ya?”

Cirin leaned forward, “No I-”

He felt something on his shoulder. A heavy grasp. He stood up immediately. The air was simmering, dust clot the his clungs, and the sound of slithering drowned his ears.

“Mouse! Mouse!”

Cirin snapped his head to the mon and squinted at the man’s wrought expression. He already had his blades out. Instantly he realised what the man he had been glaring out.

Three, no five pack snakes were close upon them. Ramhorns, the lot of them.

“Old mon, da spell- it didn’t work.”

“Dun worry about dat, Mouse. Just keep ya head low. We’ll try ta out slither these brigands while we can.”

Cirin nodded, but by the pace of the larger snakes racing towards them, he could tell that was more hopeful thinking of Azhar’s part.

“It’s no use, Azhar.” Realized Toftof, “Dose snakes are mature ones, dey’ll reach us in minutes.”

“Dere are five snakes. Dat’s easily tirty men. Runnin’ be our best option Tof.”

Toftof scrunched over to Azhar’s side with one hand holding the reins, then placed his free hand on Azhar’s shoulder.

“It’s ova if dey find da prince on da udda snake, you know dat Azhar.”

Azhar flicked Toftof’s hand, “Are ya suggesting we leave da children to deir own?”

“It be dere best bet out. Wit us two we can hope ta hold dem off, use da Rotgrip tactic.”

“Rotgrip. Haven’t heard dat in awhile.” Reminisced Azhar.

“Old mon, what are ya saying?”

Azhar turned him a heavy eye, “I’m saying we stop. You, Sol, Caterine, and Taba get on dis snake and hide. If all goes well dey’ll tink us deir own membas and let us.”

“Will dat work?” questioned the boy.

“It’ll have to, mouse.”

Toftof pulled the reins and the snake simmered to a halt. Seeing it’s lead slow, the second snake paused in tandem.

Azhar explained the details of his plan whilst he ran to the other snake and soon the three figures of that snakes’ passengers leapt off for the first snake.

Cirin was greeted by the baffled muzzles of Taba, Catherine, and Sol.

“Dey’re comin.” Alerted Toftof, “Hide in ya greatcloaks. Make no movements.” The imp turned to face the approaching Caravan, “Dey be here.”

Cirin saw through the lightest hole in his cloak. Nearly all of the approaching company had halted a stone’s throw from their own company. Just one of those snakes had departed, and was now slowing to where Azhar and Toftof had labored to greet them.

The voice of these men were muzzled behind the cloaks and distance, yet cirin could decipher parts of what the said. One man jumped off the back of his snakes and ventured to greet Toftof and Azhar.

“We come from da east.” Informed Toftof. “Our company was killed and we were da last two alive.”

“By da prince’s company?”

“Da very same.” Chimed Azhar.

The arriving man had a low quality to his voice. His exaggerate height and skinny physique made him seem more spectre than man.

“Dat would explain why two men possess two snakes. Mind an escort den. Dese parts be danga-”

“No.” spewed Azhar, “We can make it ourselves.”

The tall man gave Azhar and Toftof a good long stare before eventually nodding, “Den dere be na mo ta discuss, take ya snakes back to da base and explain ta dem what happened.”

There was a thud and Cirin nearly fell forwards as he connected that thud to the man lumbering behind him.

Catherine seemed in mid spell when the man shot up abruptly and called out aloud.

“Help!” Bellowed Cassal, “Help! I’m in here! In mhmmflr.”

The man’s desperate dialog ended when his own filth ridden shirt stuffed itself into his mouth. Catherine’s hand was glowing faintly.

Yet that was too late. The first of the foreigns snakes was already slithering towards tem, whiel the other four were on their way.

Azhar drew his blade and held it to the tall man’s throat.

“Go!” shouted back Azhar.

Cirin froze up, Catherine was still maintaining the spell, and Taba was snapping frantically.

“Hiyaah!” bellowed Sol.

Cirin blinked. In a time when he froze it was the timid prince who had taken action. The snake snapped forwards and in the distance the other snakes could be heard well on their tail.

Cirin blinked as the cloak over his head fluttered into the wind.

“No point hiding.” Remarked Taba, she flung her hand outwards and series of jagged rocks flung towards the encroaching snakes.

Taba cursed as each of her attacks missed the mark.

“I can’t hit dem.” She screeched.

Cirin eyes bounded to toftof and Azhar in the distance. The metal glints in the setting sun revealed they were already at it.

“We can’t leave dem.” He started whispering.

Taba flung even more rocks and Cassal mumbled helplessly beside them. Tiny Sol held the reins despite it all. Their pursuers got closer. Cirin shut his eyes. Think.

In times such as these it was Azhar who knew what to do. It was Azhar who snapped the stragglers together and it was Azhar who’d make any call regardless of how the others wold take it. Yet no, Azhar wasn’t around. Cirin opened his eyes and the madness returned. He steadied his breathing and leered at the prisoner.

“We toss him.” He instructed, reaching for the man.

Taba paused her relentless assault to question the boy, “I tought ya wanted ta use da place ta interrogate him.”

“Da same trick won’t work twice.” Grunted Cirin as he tugged the pig of a man. “Catherine!”

“Right, right.” She blurted as she pushed him from the other side. Once she started, the man’s shirt fell from his mouth and he gasped as he edged ever closer to the moving edge.

“No, dun do dis, ya need me!”

“Dat was befa ya gave us away.” Tugged Cirin.

“I’ll be betta, promise.”

Cirin and Catherine gave one final yank to the man and let him tumble off the edge and out of view.

Catherine puffed and fell back, “What now?” she gasped.

Cirin caught his own breath, “We deal wit dem.”

“Impossible! What do ya tink I was doing all dis time? My rocks won’t hit dem.” Complained Taba.

Cirin winced as the snakes got ever closer. He could make out the various faces of the men in pursuits. Not one looked to be the pleasant diplomatic type, “Den we need ta slow dem down.” Decided the boy.

“But how?” stressed the girl.

Cirin’s head throbbed. He curled his fists. Azhar. Azhar was out there, alone. He tired to think yet the image of the old mon bloodied, wounded even, left him stumbling.

“Is it a cloudy day, Cirin?” asked Catherine.

Cirin found himself gawking at the scholar, then the sky. There were clouds, murky ones in fact.

“You three go on a ahead.” Said the scholar as she stood up.

“Caterine? Caterine!” Cirin reached for her, but a moment too late.

In one fluid moment, the apprentice of the man who owned a hatshop leapt off the moving snakes and landed squarely with her knees bent on the sand.

The world went silent as she tossed one arm up in the sky. IT was over in a flash.

When the light died down, Cirin found himself staring at a perfectly glossed over portion of sand stretching well to the side infrotn of Catherine.

Cirin blinked, “Watta?” he questioned.

“No.” corrected a gawking Taba, “She turned da sands ta glass. Dat means…” She gasped.

She stood up herself and snapped her fingers five times. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

She threw one arm in front of her, and the rocks zipped through the air.

Each of them pierced the heads of the snakes, stopping the poor beasts instantly.

“Glass.” Revealed Taba, “Is a smooth surface, one da snakes cannot move across quickly.”

Cirin could hardly hear her. The visage of Catherine slowly being surrounded by the assailants was all that crossed his mind. He fell back.

“We have ta go back to dem. Sol” he said turning to the boy.

He reached for the prince. Taba caught his grasping hand.

“Let go.” Fumed Cirin.

A firm slap to the face was her response.

“Ya really are a brainless degenerate if ya tink all dat was fa noting.”

“If we don’t dere going ta die!” bellowed Cirin.

Taba shook her head and pointed at Sol, “Dey are not da targets. He is.”

Cirin sat back. He found Sol staring back at him, a sad smile plastered across his face.

“I tink we be far enough now.” Sighed Taba, “Stop da snake.”

Once the snake stopped, Taba was quick to leap off of it and disappear off to the side of the beast. Cirin tossed sol a look and followed after girl.

At first he didn’t find her, as where he checked on the right side of the snake, there lay only sand and footprints. He followed those prints around the snake and quickly found who he had been searching for. Her and yet another.

“What’s he doing here?” hissed Cirin.

“He is our back up plan.” Motioned Taba.

Cassal hung pinned to the snake carriage by the back of his collar. There, his tattered shirt was held in place by a single piece of jagged rock.

“We’ll use him ta find Jegga’s base.” Continued Taba, “from dere, we find dose and save em.”

Cirin held his breath, “Ya want ta save dem to?”

Taba’s ears reddened and she glanced away, “Simply out of gratitude fa Caterine fa saving me back den.”

Her ears almost turned watermelon red as a smiling Sol reared his head over the side of the snake.

“An adventure!” beamed the prince.

“A rescue mission.” Corrected Taba.