huge, forward-facing eyes, a nose instead of gills, and... a weird
almost mechanical-looking bulge at the front of its throat. And it had
skin, not scales.
Silver-blue skin that glowed in the evening light.
“Oh, my,” breathed Franck as he he reached for the shears.
“What are you going to do to me?” the thing shrilled.
“It talks!” squeaked Franck, leaping back. His knees felt unreliable.
The thing flopped about helplessly, calling out to him in an increas-
ingly strangled voice. “Please, don’t go—free my hands—I can’t get my
breather out—I can’t breathe—”
Its words were strangely pronounced but understandable, even
though Franck had no idea what it was talking about. It was clear,
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