Siry Remudi had always been interested in things that rolled in from the sea. Strange things. Unusual things. Things which hinted that outside the comfortable, small village where he lived lay a vast and very different world. So when the wave boiled in and smashed on the beach, and the odd-shaped thing rolled once and came to rest on the sand, Siry walked toward it. It was about the size of a man, but it was made of strange, raglike material. He was several hundred feet away, so it was a little hard to tell. Maybe an odd bundle of seaweed? A log covered with algae or kelp? He started walking rapidly toward it. There was something intriguing about it. Then the next wave crashed and another odd-looking object washed in. And another. And another. He’d gotten within a hundred feet of it or so when the first object moved. It sat up. That’s no log! Siry thought. That’s a man! Which was when he realized that the rags were clothes. Which meant— He turned and began to run. “Flighters!”
What do You think about Book Three Of The Travelers?
