The released giant’s breath was a roar so loud, and it made a wind so strong, that the bright pieces of blue dust that the Drood was trying to collect whirled up into the air in a flurry of excitement, and out of the Drood’s reach.
The Drood gave a howl of frustration as up and into the wind they went, around and around, impossible to catch, and the Drood, arms flailing, dropped the gourd, which rolled on the floor, all the dust spilling out of it in great glorious swoops…
And the Drood himself lost his balance in the tremendous roar of the blast, and fell out and over the edge of the battlement that had been broken by the ball of iron that encased the Kingwitch only moments before, with a furious shriek.
Down the Drood fell, becoming smaller and smaller, and when he had nearly reached the ocean, his pin-prick of a body transformed into a gyrfalcon, before spreading wide his wings and flying out, out across the waves in the distant direction of the islands known as the Giants’ Footsteps.
Just in time, for all around them the freed blue dust was singing…