Joji and his cohort regrouped on solid rock, lungs burning and clothes damp with swamp sweat.
They stood at the edge of the old sinkhole and looked down.
Far below, the boar king churned in rage, bristles matted with mud, its ball shaped charge reduced to a furious pacing circle at the bottom.
It snorted up at them, stamping and scraping as if it could bully the earth into giving it a path.
Lilina leaned over the edge and stuck out her tongue, making faces with the fearless cruelty of a girl who survived a calamity.
Walter hovered a step back, hands lifted like a man surrendering to a judge.
"That was my mistake, good sirs," he said, voice thin with apology. "Who would have thought such a large tree would topple so easily?"
Joji scoffed. His fist itched to knock sense into the fat man, the same way a man knocked mud off boots. He even half raised his hand.
Then he remembered Sir Engine and the mission tied to Walter's neck, and his hand lowered again, slow and unwilling.
