Favorite

Questor the Elf nodded solemnly. “And now you must embrace your destiny, young hero.”

Jim, the still-unfamiliar blade awkward in his hands, rubbed a sweaty palm on his jeans. “I’m ready,” he said, “even if I never believed in magic before.”

“The magic believes in you,” chirped Jub-Jub, the talking cat-bird.

“Go, now,” Questor said, with a gentle but insistent shove. Jim glanced once back at his friends and started across the Doombridge. He made it only halfway before the swooping Dreadwing picked him off.

Questor winced. “Unfortunate. We’ll have to get another one.”

“He was my favorite,” Jub-Jub sighed.