Pollian Emuro, limped in the dark corridors of Drop, dragging himself against the serrated wall, the more energy he used the more it a bsorbed, I hate pymids.He could not block out the continuos flow of blood.Now he knew even a Ko-pollain bled like any man, how long had it been since he felt this helpless.
He could feel it draining all his power. I curse you Azoic, their masters greatest weapon was a traitor, by now they all must be dead; everyone who knew this secret. They had known someone must try and get the discovery home; in the split of second they had decided it should be him; the others had fought to give him the lead, even though they knew, it was grasping for wind. In his hurry to flee, he had ended in this dump of all places in .
He heard quick movement of feet, Emuro span with, only to find a small puppy. Sighing in relief Emuro held still, trying so hard to calm himself, but knew it was futile, he was a brave man but after this daughter’s reign, Komron if five of his brothers could not manage.
He remembered little of the battle except the speed and strength. In seconds he had been stabbed with a rod of black pymid steel; he had been told the man was a mere harvester but no, this was more, he had fought harvesters before unless Doplol had decided him not fit for the knowledge but no something must be terribly wrong, it must be this wicked rod impaled in his shoulder.
He knew he was faster than three normal men, because that was what it had taken to make him, most ko-pollians were; but even that had not helped them.
Let all the Dopol know of this perfidy; how dare him. If only he got this message home, there were Bell houses in Drop let him make it, then his work for the Polikoth would be done and the gates to mother Komron would widely open for him.
Even this current condition he could not help but notice this pong of a place, breathing this dusty air; he might die before Azoic caught up with him. This very son’s reign he had woken up with the strength of four adult men yet here he was limping in the ruins of Drop. Komron have mercy.
Again he sat down, he thought he leaned on the wall but it was the ground waiting for him with its wet embrace; who would tell Polikoth, Dopol had to know. He tired once more to pull out the black poking rod, not even three of them had been able to stop him, curse the hairless Maragan. With the little energy left he tried to pull, but the black rod drained even the little he had.
“Looks like Bellion has visited us” He heard a sneer, must be the drifters, what wrong did he do oh Komron, this ending was not for one like him.
He should have destroyed the message bound for Dopol.