“What?” asks Fiona.
“This clearing,”
Strauss replies, “It was not here when we ran past up there.” Mo
gestures to the hedge top. “We should have taken another right.”
He scratches his head,
looking around him, before his shoulders suddenly droop a little.
“Oh no,” he says.
“POOR,”
The thing behind them screams again, ripping at the hedge in
its path. “BLIND,” it
continues, the destruction sounding colossal. “TEDDY,”
it crashes on.
“What is it?” Fiona
asks, “What's wrong?”
“The Maze, m'lady, it
is redesigning itself,” he pauses, struggling to find the right
words, “into a three dimensional conundrum based on Escher's worst
nightmare.”
