Kyp’s eyes snapped open. He was flat on his back, his body listing from side to side. He was being carried on some kind of stretcher through a narrow canyon of crumpled, colour-splashed paint kettles.
As Kyp sat up a gruff voice complained, ‘Do stop fidgeting. You’re putting me off my stride.’
‘We have to go back. We have to go back, we -.’
Kyp stopped, as a number of details impressed themselves upon him. His transport wasn’t a stretcher, but a large brown sofa. It resembled a kind of buffalo – a soffalo! - and he was on the creature’s soft, brown back.
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