My snippet this week follows on from last week's sequence. This isn't Sorrel - this is her older sister, metaphorically. She is on a lake in a jungle, waiting for her passengers - and she suspects there is trouble approaching.
The port engine spluttered and the prop began to turn. The starboard engine, on the other hand, spluttered and went silent. The Duckling won't get airborne on one prop. I can manoeuvre, if the water isn't too choppy (and this lagoon wasn't too bad), but there wasn't much space. I cursed (I've got a vocabulary that would impress most orcs - not something to be particularly proud of), and yanked the cord of the starboard starter again.
The port engine was running up to speed, the prop spreading growing ripples across the clear blue water of the lagoon, and making the verdant greenery of the jungle rustle as though a thousand chaggers were lurking, ready to pounce. Hmm - not an idea I wanted to think about. Where the volg were my passengers? I had no doubt that they were the cause of the impending trouble.
The starboard engine coughed, coughed again, and then settled back into slumber. I ran my eyes over the cockpit indicators, trying to remain calm. I had seen movement on the trail down through the jungle. Quite a lot of movement, actually. Not quite a herd of vinbani, but not far off. That had to be my passengers, and whoever was chasing them - most probably orcs - could not be far behind.
As always, comments welcomed!