Page 131

(Spondule is running downhill through a rocky landscape, carrying Navichet, unconscious, the book, and the round bag. Smoke pours out of Navichet’s face)

SPONDULE: HELP!

(His foot catches between two rocks, he trips and slams his face into the ground, sending Navichet flying. He gets up, face bleeding, and grabs her)

SPONDULE: She’s hurt! Anyone!