He spoke in the dryly confident tone of authority Eddie had first heard in the town of River Crossing. He somehow restrained the urge to open the bag and stick his head inside it, like a horse sticking its head into a bag of oats, and looped the drawstring over the pommel of his saddle twice instead. A puff of breeze sent more leaves showering down around him, and caused the stuffy-guy to creak nastily on his pole. Ahead of them, Brian Hookey turned in his saddle, his beard-stubbly face long with amazement.
From being scared or being seen into? He didn’t know. A pill of magical properties, but one of the words from Jake’s world he would never be able to say correctly. It would have to do. Even at fourteen, such an expression on his face was troubling.
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