Smoke rolled in the globe— “That’s our Brass!” whispered Calli. —and Brass yawned and shook his head, ivory saber teeth glistening with spittle, muscles humped on shoulders and arms; brass claws unsheathed six inches from yellow plush paws. Bunched bands on his belly bent above them. The barbed tail beat on the globe’s wall. His mane, sheared to prevent handholds, ran like water. Calli grabbed the Customs Officer’s shoulder. “Snap your fingers, man! That’s our Brass!” The Customs Officer, who had never been able to, nearly broke his hand trying.
