My pilot heroine is on the run, pursued by dangerous enemies. With her is Wrack, the dragonlord, whom she does not really trust.
They have just realised they have apparently nowhere left to run...
I came to a juddering halt only a few inches from the edge. Below - some way below - I could see water glittering. The gorge we were facing was about forty feet wide – no way to cross it. A stream fell in a graceful arc from the far bank into the water below. I looked across at Wrack in dismayed horror, and began to expostulate. All right, swear – same difference. Wrack was holding his injured arm, and gestured downwards at the churning water below.
"How brave are you, Sorrel?" he growled.
"What?" I answered intelligently.
Sometimes I really think I'd have been better off finding a nice, safe career - something like juggling scorpions or gargling with broken glass. I could hear the sound of boots, yells of anger, and muffled movement behind us. No time to have doubts. I grabbed his hand - no way was I doing this on my own - and nodded.
As always, comments welcomed!