He looks at it as if hypnotized. In one hand he carried a mug; in the other a folded scrap of what looked to Roland like birch-bark. To Oz, the Emerald Palace, and the guy who lived in the Emerald Palace. “Yeah,” Jake said.
Only way home we got. The wind gusted, and Roland clapped a hand to his hat to keep it from flying off. There was a single shot, deafening as thunder in the little room; it was a full minute before Roland was able to hear the babble of questions and commotion from below. The bird fell like a stone and splashed into the stream.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.