The King of the toads nodded ponderously and waved his trident. Two smaller toads came forward, carrying between them a sack which moved with a wriggling, writhing motion.

Swinkee snatched it from them and backed off, bowing and scraping. “Kkss, kaha, swampflies, marshworms, no need t’ counta them, Swinkee trust great King, always good to-a do trade with.”

Dragging the sack off into the dunes, he waved to Mara and Pikkle. “Kahahaha, bye bye, Foodslaves. Kksss!”

*   *   *

The badger maid and the young hare were made to march with the net still over them. Stumbling and spitting sand, they struggled across the dunes, surrounded by hopping, croaking toads who were only too willing to jab at them with tridents or lash out with wicked flails, should they fall or attempt to stop. Some of the smaller toads thought it was good fun to sit on the trailing net ends and be towed along. Pikkle was soon exhausted, but Mara put out all her strength to aid her friend. Holding the net up so that he could walk freely, she bunched her muscles and dragged the whole thing along on her own, ignoring the trident and flail stings, impervious to the sand and stones that were thrown at her by the mocking amphibians. Pikkle crouched low, doing his best to keep her footpaws from being snared or tripped in the net.

*   *   *

Night had long fallen over the dunes, and the captives were still lugging the enormous weight. Mara was forced now to travel on all fours; the strain of standing upright had proved too much. Pikkle crawled doggedly at her side. Blinded by sand and smarting from the cuts and blows of goading weapons, the young ones plowed wearily onward, oblivious of where they were bound, hoping only to be allowed to stop and rest. It gradually filtered through to their numbed senses that they were traveling along flat damp ground—there were tussocks of grass and patches of mud.

One of the toads produced a conch shell. Puffing out its throat, the creature blew into it. There was an answering call from up ahead and lights began to show.

King Glagweb prodded Mara cruelly with his trident. “Krrroik! Move, stripedog. Hurry, krrrik! Nearly there!”

When they reached their destination the two captives flopped gratefully to the soggy ground, panting with exertion. Other toads, carrying lanterns full of fireflies, came waddling over to inspect the prisoners. One firefly settled on Pikkle’s ear, which was sticking out of the netting.

Pikkle gave a yelp of pain. “Yowch! That blighter bit me!”

King Glagweb laid about with the handle of his trident, scattering the onlookers as he called out to his guard, “Krroikl! Get these Foodslaves into the pit. Krrrk!”