A moment past wherein Sun-hop teetered and skittered, trying to grab onto the roof, the wall, or even the very pole that had struck him but then he fell, like a literal stone, past his helplessly watching friends, toward the cement below.
The bearded priest mumbled some twisted words and from his long but immaculately clean fingernails, a white mist shot forth and formed into a fluffly white mattress. The giant, flailing stone monkey slammed into and through the mattress, making a noise like two rhinoceroses being shot out of a cannon and into a castle wall.
A huge crowd of humans swirled around the crash site and peered down. They saw the monkey, still breathing, but with a mouth twisted in pain. “My legs,” he groaned. “I think they’re both broken.”
Poople, listening from high up on the temple wall, screeched an incomprehensible battle cry and doubled her climbing speed. Within seconds, she crested the roof and seamlessly ducked Stylus’s pole swing.
She heaved herself up and over onto the flat, red roof, drew her sword and spit at Stylus.
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