The way home closed behind Skykeel, and the city struck the throat broadside.
One outer tower scraped along the black-green wall. Across the city, the broken nursery caught on the opposite side. Streets bent between them until windows burst inward and trapped air fled through the center in silver sheets.
Kaul's wet breath came from every copper mouth.
It could not tell anyone where down had gone.
Jiang stood on the center rib beside Aylin's open hand. His feet slipped as the city rolled, and his torn shoulder refused the balance his tail tried to give him. Blood from his split beak dotted the water before the current carried it into the throat.
Ahead, the root narrowed.
Skykeel was wider than the opening.
The green-sailed rider measured the dark walls with one look. Her cracked spar had lost half its cloth, and Kaul's hook blade shook in her exhausted hand.
"We cannot pull the city straight," she said.
