The Ardeld Raarchlan had appeared so quietly and quickly it might have blinked – teleported – right to the spot.
The figure tasted the air with a red, red tongue.
“Mmmm,” he said. “An Ellouarch in the Madlands. So rare, and
thus so easy to sense. I smelled you twenty miles from here.
And your taste…different, slightly. You taste like an elf
that has spent too much time near the Madlands. I sense
Ghost on you.” The words were in the Ellouarch language, but
they puffed out of the creature’s mouth like the breath from
a hole cradling something dead.
Kelvy’s legs buckled. “I just want to leave.”
The boy managed to break the creature’s mesmerizing gaze. He glanced around for something he might use to defend himself. He spotted Flyndyng, overstuffed from Ghost food, fearfully lumbering and then diving into a box of fat, multi-colored cords that might offer a little protection.
