[Vyng trusts the shrike means what he says, and the ice falling back down only urges him forward. So, without another word, he snatches the freshly-uncovered strap of his bag...and hops onto a chunk of floating snow. Then another. And another. As weightless as the air around him.
Finally, once he's fully emerged from the tunnel, he lands on both feet — right beside the shrike — with a soft, satisfying crunch beneath his boots.
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Finally, once he's fully emerged from the tunnel, he lands on both feet — right beside the shrike — with a soft, satisfying crunch beneath his boots.
He grins.]
Great job. I owe you.