The eyes of The Which locked onto it like a drowning person intent on the shore. The box soared some distance in a tumbling arc and descended into a jumble of jagged rubble near the Tree.
The front of the box scraped a rock upon landing, yellow sparks flashing briefly.
The soldier struggled to raise himself on wobbly arms, writhing weakly at the feet of the panting guards. They looked eager to deliver a few more vindictive blows, but their prisoner gave up the fight and flopped feebly into the dirt.
Inelegant for perhaps the first time in her life, The Which scrambled madly after the liberated box, her robes flapping loosely about her, arms extended with fingers splayed and grasping. She plucked up the Tinderbox triumphantly. Her vindication turned quickly to confusion and concern.
A
