And a little pine weasel shall lead them isn't how it goes, but it's certainly worth a try.
Corridors, and rooms, and rippling curtains and every so often the sound of one string plucked on a bass.
The sunlight, when they finally emerge, is blinding. Cooper can hear the birds, and the footsteps -- Hawk's voice, that of Major Briggs, a sudden flurry of noise and sensation. "We're okay," he says, slightly dazed. "It's done. We're done."
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And a little pine weasel shall lead them isn't how it goes, but it's certainly worth a try.
Corridors, and rooms, and rippling curtains and every so often the sound of one string plucked on a bass.
The sunlight, when they finally emerge, is blinding. Cooper can hear the birds, and the footsteps -- Hawk's voice, that of Major Briggs, a sudden flurry of noise and sensation. "We're okay," he says, slightly dazed. "It's done. We're done."
The pine weasel is nowhere to be seen.