Ropak clutched his club in both hands. “I’ll kill the male, you kill the female. Golaka can prepare an entire cloudling buffet tonight.”

“Ropak, we’re only supposed to get a bird, not—” It was too late.

Jig had to admit, Ropak was an imposing sight. Dumber than fungus, but imposing. Club raised high, Ropak charged the two cloudlings. It would have been enough to make Jig cringe and run away.

The cloudlings did neither. They didn’t look up at all. They continued to chat as Ropak drew near. Then the man slipped one hand behind his back, drew a tiny crossbow, and squeezed the trigger, all without taking his eyes off the other cloudling.

The dart buzzed into Ropak’s cheek. He growled and plucked it out, took three more steps, and fell flat on his face.

Only now did the cloudlings glance up from their conversation. Jig swallowed and backed away. Not only were the cloudlings watching him, but every single bird had stopped eating to do the same. Could cloudlings see through their birds’ eyes? That would explain how they had shot Ropak.

A tiny yellow bird buzzed near Jig’s ear, wings humming as it darted back and forth, like it wanted nothing more than to plunge its needle-sharp beak into Jig’s eye. A huge white owl spread its wings and advanced.

Jig threw the muck-lantern at the owl and fled. A dart clicked off the wall beside him. He crouched as he ran, covering his head with his hands and listening for pursuit. Farther on, he ducked into a side tunnel, slipped in a puddle, and smashed face first into a wall.