As people closed in on Sackmace, Lonequiver, and Reelfisher, fate seemed to swing their way. It sent them a beneficial disaster.
Seventeen skeleton giants turned their skulls toward the press of living bodies. The air tightened. Then the world began to fall.
Trees, rocks, and slabs of compacted soil sailed overhead, slow at first, like a storm that had not decided where to land.
Reelfisher heard the first impact before he saw it. A blood crimson puddled. A shout cut short.
They moved like mortals who had learned to live anyway. Sackmace read the arc and hopped left.
Lonequiver slid low, boots scraping stone, breath whistling between clenched teeth.
Reelfisher felt the heavy umbrella pole in his grip and judged distance the way he judged current in a river, by pressure and sound.
Above them, the light was already descending, a pale shaft like dawn pulled into a rope.
