“That’s right. Wot better place o’ safety t’ flee to?”
Jon-Tom looked doubtful as he sat back against a fallen
trunk. “Mudge, I don’t know about your thinking.”
“I’m willin’ enough to entertain alternative suggestions,
m’lord warbler, but you’re ‘ardly in shape for some straight
arguin’.”
“Now, that I won’t argue. We’ll discuss it in the
morning.”
“In the mornin’, then. Night to you, mate.”
The thunder woke Jon-Tom. He blinked sleepily and
looked up into a gray sky full of massive clouds. He
blinked a second time. White clouds were common
enough in this world, just as they were in his own. But not
with black stripes.
He tried to move, discovered he could not. A huge furry
arm lay half on and half off his chest while another curved
behind his head to form a warm pillow. Unfortunately, it
64
Alan Dean Foster
M
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
65
was also cutting off the circulation to his throbbing left
arm.
He tried to disengage himself. As he did so the thunder
of Roseroar’s purring was broken by a coughing snarl. She
stirred, but her arms did not budge.
Another shape moved nearby. Mudge was sitting up on
the bed of leaves he’d fashioned for himself. He looked
over toward Jon-Tom as he stretched.
“Well, don’t just sit there, damn it. Give me a hand
here!”
“Wot, and interrupt a charmin’ domestic tableau like
that?”
“Don’t try to be funny.”
“Funnier than that?” He pointed at the helpless spell-
singer. “Couldn’t be if I tried, mate.”
Glaring at him, Jon-Tom tried again to disengage him-
self, but the weight was too much for him. It was like