Shift
“Tycho wondered. “They have had her in that unusual dwelling for hours.”
“How should I know?” Bertram grumbled. “I have been sitting here beside you this entire time.”
He was hungry, tired and irritable. They had followed the group of Mercesti through the marshes until they reached a much larger swamp. That swamp was filled with an abundance of odd-looking trees. The enormous trunks of the trees reached up to high, wide branches ending in fluffy-looking, dark green foliage. A series of bridges connected the trees and the homes that had been built among them. From the sky, and even largely from the ground, the trees camouflaged the dwellings. Since the ground was nothing but murky water, the likelihood of anyone stumbling upon this place was slim.
He slapped at a mosquito large enough to carry off a small animal and cursed his lot in life.
“They maintain a regimented watch,” Tycho observed.
“Yes.” Bertram had already noted that. “There are likely converted Waresti among them.”
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