![]() On high alert, he edged down the slippery slope, feeling the tickle of the sand between his toes, a sensation that was strange and hard to get used to, Leo pressed forward. He reached back for his katanas and spun around a few times when he realized they were gone. This was no time for poetry, he told himself. At the same time, he was arrested by a jolt of foreboding. There was something down there that he needed to see. Leo couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his instincts were acting up again. The village was unnatural, like it oughtn't to be there-like the desert could swallow it back up again at any moment. It looked like one of those ancient digs he'd seen on television in those archeological programs Don liked to watch. Down in the gulf stood a precarious little village of black tile and bright red rock. Spiraling down into the basin like a giant sift. There were three such dunes, sloping down like mountains to a great valley. He was atop a giant dune-a dune of fine, soft sand that reflected the harsh light like a foggy mirror. ![]() He turned around and stopped dead in his tracks. Leo stood, brushed himself off, and set out to find some answers. What about Raph? Slash had said.but what had he meant? Was there really a chance? Could Raph be alive? Where the shell was he? What about the Mutanimals? Had they gotten away? Had he been captured by Shredder? Sitting up and rubbing his head, he looked around. "Ooh-ah-mpf!" he exclaimed, landing on his shell. He summersaulted over and over-arms flailing-grabbing at nothing.įor a few seconds he hung midair before abruptly realizing that the whipping winds were dying out. The eerie wind lifted him clean off the ground. Whoa! He threw his arms up to protect his face when a powerful gust of air flung him back. He had to squint under the harsh gray light. The other small bit of poetry is mine (you'll know because I'm not much of a poet). I do not quote the whole thing, just the pieces I found most fitting. While writing this, a line of poetry started bouncing around in my head. Poetry, which is clearly not mine.Ĭredit where credit is due, the poem used in this chapter (hence the chapter name) is by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
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