We're being dragged behind a weather monster, water-skiing, except on air and wind. Umū dabrūtu is pulling us closer and closer to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
My knuckles are white, my lips are chapped, and my cheeks are probably red. I can't feel my face. I can't even feel Daji's hand in mine.
"It's going to be alright," she assures me.
"I'll take your word for it," I mutter, trying to peer through the confusion of the storm.
Pazuzu's voice is overly cheerful. "Chin up! At least we're not splattered all over the ground."
"Where there's life, there's hope?"
I have an absurd mental picture of one of those motivational posters I used to hate. In it, Pazuzu would be tossed in this windstorm, trying to get to the building, and the caption would say, "Cheer up! Things can always be worse."
Pazuzu shouts, "What's that? Can't hear you over the wind."
Snark. I respect snark.
