Spellsinger 03 – The Day of the Dissonance by Foster, Alan Dean

Mudge shrugged. “Don’t matter ‘ow you describe it.

You’d wake the ‘ole place.”

“I could try singing quietly.”

‘Aye, and likely catapult.. .sorry again, Roseroar.. .me

into the middle o’ some far ocean. No offense, mate, but

you know well as I that there be times when your spellsmgin’

don’t quite strike the mark. So if it’s all the same, I’d

rather take me chances with the tree.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jon-Tom muttered.

A glance showed Roseroar already crawling carefully out

onto the chosen limb. “Go ahead, but I think you’re

nuts.”

“Why, guv, I didn’t think me mental condition were a

matter o’ dispute anymore. An’ the proof of it’s that I’m

standin’ ‘ere askin’ you to let me catapult meself toward a

stone wall instead o’ lying in a soft bed somewhere back in

the Bellwoods.”

He moved aside as the thick branch began to bend

toward the ground beneath Roseroar. She kept crawling

along it until she couldn’t advance any more, then swung

beneath and continued advancing toward the end of the

limb hand-over-hand. Seconds later the leaves were brushing

the street.

Mudge nestled himself into a crook between two smaller

branches near the end. “Wot’s your opinion o’ this, luv?”

Roseroar had to use all her weight to hold the branch

down. She studied the distant roof speculatively. “A lot to

miss and little to land on. Wheah do y’all wish the remains

sent?”

“Two optimists I’m blessed with,” the otter mumbled,

“I thank the both o’ you for your encouragin’ words.” He

patted the wood behind him. “Wortyle wood. I thought