The Second Forest II
I’m sorry, could you repeat that? The words formed in Devon’s mind. “Sbbl, krbblthhhit,” is what came from the bloody motorboat of his lips.
The half-face withdrew and a spike of fear sank into Devon’s heart. Wait! He wanted to cry out, but neither breath nor faculty would cooperate. Had he scared it? He didn’t think so, despite his horrid appearance. His mother’s memory chided him about first impressions, but he thought even she would have to grant some leniency under the circumstances. His eyeballs roved in their sockets, looking for a rescuer, the majesty of this second forest view already dimming as a backdrop. Though his nose tickled fancy, it was his ears which caught the lilting tune of a whistle. Joyous and jaunty he allowed it to foster his flickering hope.
More of the face appeared. An angular chin and a mouthful of efficient teeth had Devon second guessing. His hope looked hungry.
“Tammerwokd thajumba, Borelord,” the teeth said. They were all Devon could see. He had hoped some lip-reading might clear up the jumble more than it did. “Yer gogotrane sleekin gojoos,” the face continued.
A slight shake of the head was all the wounded man could manage. Consternation melted into comprehension as the stranger reached a ridge lined arm into the vehicle. The green hand passed through a shimmer in the air as it neared Devon’s face, a very human hand emerging on the other side and clamping over his ruined nose and mouth.
There was no struggle in Devon’s body, not even against mortality, as he heard the wonder in his attacker’s voice, “Shed thasekund skin, Borelord.”