The Shovan Chronicles — Part 3
Imprisoned
The soldiers led Quench and Wendy through the narrow, cobbled alleyways, lined on either side with small stone houses. As they passed, the citizens stopped and gaped. Most of them were Reton, short and stout.
“Now I know how a giraffe feels,” said Wendy. “We tower above them.”
“It’s frightening being the centre of attention,” said Quench. “When people stare at me, it never ends well.”
“Don’t worry.” Wendy squeezed his trembling hand. “They are just being curious, they have probably never seen a human being before.”
“I hope they will not turn us into slaves.”
“I’m sure they won’t. They must be taking us to meet their leader.”
“Maybe your father’s here.”
“Let’s hope.”
They came out into a large square. On the far side was the fortress, looming above the town. “It’s like one of those old castles from the Middle Ages,” said Wendy. “This must be where the King lives.”
“Look.” Quench pointed to the sky. Insbar were gliding across the heavens. Some were young, at play, swooping, twisting and turning, squealing with delight. High above, a group of the uniformed creatures were flying in formation.
