In Which A Great Deal Of People Are Eaten
It’s a curious experience, having your hand neatly clipped off by a mythical creature. The bird barely seemed to move; its feet stayed planted on the ground, its feathers never ruffled. Without a sound its gyroscopic head simply pecked at me, and its beak snicked off my left hand with all the clinical efficiency and utter nonchalance of a barber’s scissors. A millisecond later, the bird’s head was back in place, its eyes watching me with faint curiosity.
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I woke up in the desert, breathing in fresh morning air. I sat up in bed and looked around. The others were all a-slumber, expect for Papu, who was quietly making breakfast. He waved at me from across the dune, grinning. 