“I'm not sure I like
your tone,” Raven said to Oak, “What is it you're trying to
suggest?”
“Nothing,” was
Oak's reply, delivered, I swear, in a playful, sing-song voice. That
stick remained pointing at the three of us. “You know,” he
continued, “There are those who say you've gone soft. After your
last waltz in the Weave, when you were defeated by....what was it
now?”
“Does it matter?”
Raven clearly wasn't amused by the conversation.
I myself was transfixed
by the liquid wall behind Oak. Amidst the frenetic undulations and
popping bubbles, what I'd first thought was a dome had started to
look a little more elongated, and certainly part of something much
bigger.
“We never really got
to the bottom of that one, did we?” Oak asked, “The Mighty
Corvus, the Great Leveller, defeated by ideas? It doesn't sound
that likely, does it?”
At that moment Mary
gasped, a sound full of recognition, and I could see why. Behind
Oak, the shinning liquid wall was giving way to giant facial features
as the face of the Nomad pushed through.
