There was no point arguing. Fletcher didn’t want to talk to either one of them, not about this. He stewed in silence as they marched into the descending twilight.
Eventually they came to a thicket of thorny bushes that stretched into the shadows, sporting luminous green berries which suffused the space with a soft glow. The lead elf stepped forward, brought two long, clawed fingers to her scaly lips, and whistled sharply.
A shudder of apprehension raced through Fletcher. Why had they stopped here? Were the elves summoning some vicious beast? Would he, Roxanne, and Seba be fed to it as punishment for trespassing?
I’ve doomed us all, he thought, surrendering to despair.
They waited for what seemed an age. Finally a tall figure resolved out of the darkness. It appeared so fluidly, so sile
