Those two tiny arms,
sticking out between the Nomad's lips, were grasping at thin air.
The Nomad itself looked very confused by this turn of events:
forehead locked in a frown, eyes peering down trying to see. I think
I half expected a giant hand to reach up through the floor to pluck
this creature from its' mouth.
That didn't happen.
Instead, out living room resounded with a grunt, a noise made by more
than one throat, followed by a head and shoulders poking through
those lips. I stood there, aghast, while that head spat something on
the floor. I looked from that face to the midget by the door, and
sure enough my suspicions were confirmed: the two faces were
identical. What's more, the little chap by the door was also
spitting, and similar sounds were coming from beneath Robert's chair.
The fellow emerging
from the wall writhed a bit, inching his way through, until he was in
a position to prise those jaws open. He did so with another grunt,
another sound that came from more than one mouth, before his entire
body tumbled onto the carpet in a heap.
“Oh my,” Mary said
as he picked himself up and brushed at his knees. “Is it me, or
are we being invaded by dwarves?”
