“So you’d like to fly, would you?” asked the Magruwen. Batch brightened. But before he could answer, the Magruwen sucked all the encircling smoke into himself and blew. A fiery gust somersaulted Batch backward and right out the door. Up, up, and up the well he rocketed until he flew out into the world and landed in the branches of a tree. He lay there, skin singed bald and whiskers sizzled to bristles, unconscious and twitching, for quite some time. It had not been the kind of flight he’d had in mind.
