Chapter sevenMy kregoinya comrade Mevancy, face as flushed as the red sun Zim, said: “Oh, you!” My kregoinye comrade Fweygo used his tail hand to rub his chin in a most judicial way. Delia smiled and in her superb way smoothed the incident over. We were sitting in a little straw basket floating among the clouds. A shoal of fishes swam past, glinting as they vanished beyond a tropical forest.
A butterfly flew in and landed on my cheek. I didn’t brush him off. He turned into a wasp and stung me.
The sharp prick made me open my eyes. I didn’t exactly groan; but I made a glubby squashy sort of sound. Mud and dead leaves pressed against my face in a dim pinkish radiance.
Those famous old Bells of Beng Kishi were dinging in my skull. They clanged painfully between my ears, dulled as though ri
