The Trebbons went at a quick pace, carting Oliver between them. He was allowed to walk on his own, but not to fall behind. Oliver felt like a sheep stuck in the middle of a herd, jostled onward by the wooden bodies around him without a clue where he was going.
Zarine had materialized as a wolf and was loping alongside him, just outside the ring of Trebbons. She was obviously right about them not being able to see her; none of the creatures paid her a second glance.
“Any ideas?” he asked her out of the corner of his mouth. Immediately, one of the Trebbons shepherding him turned its head toward him. Oliver froze beneath its invisible eyes.
“Don’t say anything aloud,” Zarine hissed at him. “Just think it. I can hear.”
Forcing his attention away from the attentive Trebbon, Oliver nodded. ‘How’s this?’ he thought.
“Very loud,” Zarine said, wrinkling her nose. “Why must you always shout your thoughts?”
‘What? You can’t shout a thought.’