His breath coming in painful bursts, Count Jonty Um raced along the rim of the chasm, hoping to find a way off the mountain. The two people he’d dug out of the collapsed cottage managed to stay on his shoulder.
Below his thoughts, he felt animal terror, the fright of all the beasts he’d ever shape-shifted into. In the distance, through the roar of the fire, he heard voices crying out in despair and pain. He slowed. Fee fi! One voice sounded nasal, metallic, and not in pain. He stopped.
Couldn’t be. Meenore wouldn’t risk ITself to come here.
He heard the voice again. Singing! Fo fum! IT had, but where was IT in this confusion?
“Here—Meenore!” he roared. Running again, he continued to shout.