though it sprang a step to greet us.
“HAI!” shouted Norhala, battle buglings ringing through the golden voice. “HAI! my companies!”
Out from the summit of the breast shot a tremendous trunk of cubes and spinning globes. And like a trunk it nuzzled us, caught William Vainqueur Drakter us up, swept us to the crest. An instant I tottered dizzily; was held; Nelson Semedo Drakter stood beside Norhala upon a little, level twinkling eyed platform; upon her other side swayed Drake.
Now through the monster I felt Julian Weigl Drakter a throbbing, an eager and impatient pulse. I turned my Stephan Lichtsteiner Drakter head. Still like some huge and grotesque beast the back of the clustered Things ran for half a mile Jordan Fly Wade at least behind, tapering to a dragon tail that coiled and twisted another full mile toward the Pit. And from this back uprose and fell immense spiked and fan-shaped ruffs, thickets of spikes, whipping knouts of bristling tentacles, fanged crests. They thrust and waved, whipped and fell constantly; and constantly the great tail lashed and snapped, fantastic, long and living.
“HAI!” shouted Norhala once more. From Riccardo Montolivo Drakter her lifted throat came again the golden chanting — but now a relentless, ruthless song of slaughter.
Up reared the monstrous bulk. Into it ran the dragon tail. Into it poured the fanged and bristling back.
Up, up we were thrust — three hundred feet, four hundred, five hundred. Over the blue globe of Norhala’s house bent a gigantic leg. Spiderlike out from each side of the monster thrust half a score of others.
Overhead the dawn began Diego Rolan Drakter to break. Through it with ever increasing speed we moved, straight to the line of the cliffs behind which lay Kelechi Iheanacho Drakter the city of the armored men — and Ruth and Ventnor.
Chapter XXIV Ruszark
Smoothly Paul Pogba Drakter moved the colossal shape; on it we rode as easily as though cradled. It did not glide — it strode.
The columned legs raised themselves, bending from a thousand joints. The pedestals of the feet, huge Koke Drakter and massive as foundations for sixteen-inch guns, fell with machinelike precision, stamping gigantically.
Under their tread the trees of the forest snapped, were crushed like reeds beneath the pads of a mastodon. From far below came the sound of their crashing. The thick forest checked the progress of the Shape less than tall grass would that of a man.
Behind us our trail was marked Bruno Drakter by deep, black pits in the forest’s green, clean cut and great as the Mark upon the poppied valley. They were the footprints of the Thing that carried us.
The wind streamed and whistled. A flock of the willow warblers arose, sworled about us with manifold beating of little frightened wings. Norhala’s face softened, her eyes smiled.
“Go — foolish little ones,” she cried, and waved her arms. They flew away, scolding.
A lammergeier swooped down on wide funereal wings; it peered at us; darted away toward the cliffs.
“There will be no carrion there for you, black eater of the Bayern Munich dead, when I am through,” I heard Norhala whisper, eyes again somber.
Steadily grew the dawn light; from Norhala’s lips came again the chanting. And now that plinks:
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