She’d tell me if it stopped working. Wouldn’t she?
I bumped against a tree, eyes snapping open.
The creature cocked its head, gaze fixed on the branches over it, where the light show faded out.
I glanced up at the balloon wreck, barely visible above us. Even the lowest branches towered twenty meters up.
“You’re the one from a forestry town,” whispered Sephi. “Can we make it?”
“Bark’s solid on this species. Test it before you put your full weight on it.”
It took ten minutes to reach the lowest branch; the climb went quickly after that.
The basket was charred, though more or less intact, and I found my scythe axe only lightly singed. I puffed out a long sigh of relief as I grasped the haft.
“I must admit to being somewhat annoyed by our situation.” Her words returned to their former matter-of-fact tone.
“Don’t like being stuck out in the wilderness with just a rustic human as companion?”
“I don’t like the fact that said rustic human just outdid an elf. Withtree-relatedmagic of all things.”
“Inhabitants of forestry towns do more than carrystylish axes and sing songs.”
“I would debate you on the moniker ‘stylish.’ However, your skill is most appreciated.” She clasped a hand on my upper arm, squeezing firmly. “As is your company, Mister Thistlewood.”
I covered her hand with mine. “Not as pleasant as the balloon flight, but the company makes up for it.”
She smiled briefly.
“Also, feel free to decapitate the next creature we encounter, if it will restore your elven dignity.”
She stared back at me, those luscious lips seeming to fight against a smile. Yet her eyes gave it away. She glanced away, resuming inspection of the charred wreck of the basket. “It would appear that the signal flares were ruined.”
“Out of the kettle and into… no. We started in the fire, then—”
“Perhaps it would be more efficient to summarize your pithy proverbs as, ‘we are screwed,’ ” said Sephi.
“That is a very un-elven turn of phrase.”
“Elves do value brevity from time to time.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
She returned the gesture.
“Suggestions, then?”
“The envelope appears intact.” She tapped the ruptured, singed fuel tank. “A pity we have no fuel. We might otherwise fly out of here.”
“Just how much heat would we need?”
“A few improvised torches might be enough to getus airborne, but would not burn long or hot enough to… we had about forty kilometers to go, I believe.”
“What about magic. That’s what we’re here to learn, isn’t it?”
She bit her lip. “I am notespeciallyskilled in fire-based magic, but I might be able to conjure the equivalent of a torch. I do not know for how long.”
“Neither am I. I can light candles and campfires and… what if we cut away the basket? Would that save enough weight that we could…”
