“His wings had been strung up on the front of the judges’ desk. They were harsh-looking, detached but crying out in anguish and shame, thought Rocco. Blood still dripped from the ragged edges. The Herald called again. Py got up. Despite his slight frame, he strode heavily, slouching into the chair that Cristobalite had just vacated. The Herald flicked the scroll of paper. ‘Pyroxene, you are charged with a Category A offence - playing a harpsiflute, privately, as a solitary endeavour, con...trary to the Reformations and Omniflock Improvements in the Law of Krakatoan, Article fourteen, subsection five. How do you plead?’ Cristobalite had lost his wings because he’d read a book, and now Py was going to lose his wings because he played a harpsiflute? Krakatoan had looked so magnificent yesterday, particularly the dancing urvogels in the night sky. But under all that splendour urvogels were petty and cruel. A moment ago Vesta, Basalt, Magma and Iggy had been in a stupor.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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