“Merlins don’t really glide, do they?”
asked Prince Brennus, watching as Bhric
disappeared from our view.
“No, they don’t. They perch for long
periods of time during the day, looking for
their prey—small birds—just like your
Finnobarr,” I said, inching myself nearer and
nearer to the prince. I gave another loud
whistle.
From seemingly out of nowhere,
Bhric swooped down, nearly skimming the
top of Prince Brennus’s red head before
landing on my leathered arm. I roared with
laughter as the prince dropped to the ground,
148
but I was a bit miffed when I failed to truly
anger him. Instead, Prince Brennus roared
with laughter as well.
At that moment, I realized that this
was not going to be easy. Besting the prince
was going to be far more difficult than I had
originally imagined.
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