Chapter twenty-oneTralgan Vorner frowned. He put up his hand to shade his eyes from the Suns. We stared down the declivity into the narrow valley where thorn ivy bushes grew luxuriantly. To the left masses of yellow Cyanthinum blooms formed as pretty a picture as you’d find in anyone’s cultivated garden. To the right the valley flattened and broadened and water glimmered among reeds.
The quietness was disturbed only by the creak of the cart being pulled up the slope at our backs. The Quoffa, like a perambulating woolly hearthrug, made little sound as his pads plodded on. The rest of the party gathered along the lip of the valley.
And still Tralgan Vorner frowned.
Waiting for him to speak, I glanced at San Wunbigen. A slender fellow, almost fragile, with the most delicate way about him a
