Free Blue Hills by Steve Shilstone

occupying the stage jabbed an orange tentacle in our direction.
    â€œSandwiches for all!” it shouted. “And when I say ‘Sandwiches for all’, I mean ‘Welcome to our theater’. You’re in luck. The performance is about to begin. We are the snaves of Ennek.’”
    â€œSame as the Anneks,” whispered Kar. “I bet it’ll fetch a floppy hat from that trunk, and we’ll be stuck here for hours listening to gibberish. Right, Bek?”
    I shrugged like we do, not wanting to speak, and the snave yes fetched a hat from the trunk. Not a surprise, it was orange and floppy. And not a surprise, the winding teeming mass of snaves commenced moving down the tiers of benches and taking the stage one snave at a time. But yes a surprise, the welcoming snave did not rush up the aisle at us and whisper nonsense explanations into our ears. We were left alone to observe. I glanced at Jo Bree. Still flush yellow pink. No more help there. I glanced at Kar. We did what we do. We shrugged. From the stage such and so nonsense floated up to us like as thus:
    â€œWhen you break wheels into squares, don’t forget the pepper.”
    â€œHang your coat in balmy breezes if you would have it ripen.”
    â€œThree strands of leftover lake can be braided into the strongest of ropes.”
    The droning and the rhythms and the hours piled on top of hours caused me to sway gently with a vacant smile pasted on my face. I know because Kar kept jabbing me in the ribs and telling me so such.
    â€œBek,” she hissed. “What are they talking about? What do we do next?”
    â€œWe … wait,” I shrugged.
    Kar could barely contain herself. I sensed fair true she was about to shift and roar as a Dragon in frustration. I placed my hand on her arm and slowly shook my head no.
    She trembled, but settled.
    â€œIn … time,” I soothed.
    Truth, I lost track of the end of the line of snaves winding down the tiers of benches. Though among ‘emselves, they were probably quite distinct one from the other, to Kar and to me, one of ‘em might have been any of ‘em. But I paid close attention to what each snave shouted when wildly writhing or gracefully waving its tentacles. I felt certain I would understand the utterance of the final snave. I felt certain that the final snave would return the floppy hat to the trunk, turn and directly address Kar and me. So such it happened like as I expected.
    With the floppy orange hat put safe away into the trunk, the final snave, which truth, was probably the first snave as well, gazed up at us and announced, “Step up to the clouds and build a boat of custard.”
    I understood. Kar and I had been invited to perform.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
    Another Ride on the Funnel Slide
    â€œTime for my Dragon act?” asked Kar with gleeful gleams in her eyes.
    I gave her the nod she wanted, and while she shimmered to shape, I wondered if my stumbling witch speak would be understood by the snaves when I spilled to ‘em the story of our mission. Truth, I had decided to tell ‘em the self same story I’d told the snaves of Annek. So said, Kar dropped her snaky neck low and I easily seated myself on its glittering orange scales. Yes, she’d made herself magnificent orange, a well thought out compliment to the gathered and equally orange snaves of Ennek.
    â€œWell ... bought, thought,” I praised her. I climbed aboard.
    She gave me a wide Dragon smile and launched us to soar in circles, swerve and dip, above the admiring writhing snaves. I urged her to make a proper landing on the stage before I grew too dizzy. Truth, I said “lizzy”, but she understood. She dropped to the stage, held her wings wide, snorted a flash of green flames from her nostrils, and roared, “Bekka of Thorns!” She folded down her wings, and I stepped from her neck to the center of the stage. So such, truth, it would be hard to imagine a