Chapter 142: Shape Of Neba
Dune's eyes blinked open, blurry shapes sharpening into focus. His body ached. Cold metal bars rattled beneath his back. He was in a cage, thick and twisted, its material pulsing faintly with a green Neba.
Damn it.
Above him, tree canopies whispered as they passed beneath. The cage rocked slightly, he was being carried, dragged maybe, through unfamiliar terrain.
He groaned, shifting his neck. Around him moved masked figures, familiar now. The same robes, the same animal masks.
To his left walked the one with the yellow fox mask, the woman. Still completely silent.
Ahead of her walked the largest figure, the black wolf. Another strode at his side, marked by a vivid blue wolf mask. Others surrounded them, flanking, trailing, moving in silent formation.
Dune's eyes narrowed. Then he kicked hard.
"Wake up," he muttered.
Syras stirred with a sudden yelp. "AH—!" He groaned. "My head is spinning... No way, did we actually get caught?"
The cage jolted as one of the wolves slammed a heavy boot against it, snarling something unintelligible. The growl was low, guttural. A language neither of them knew.
"I think that one just swore at us," Syras mumbled.