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" Oskar nodded. “Aye. If he’s survived this long, it’s either because of his wits or because Gnag the Nameless wants him alive, as he does you. Perhaps it’s a little of both. No, I’m certain Peet the Sock Man will show himself again someday. He’s no ordinary man, you know.” “He’s definitely not ordinary,” Janner said. “That’s not what I mean,” Oskar said. “It was said that Artham P. Wingfeather shone with Eremund’s Fire.1 The wicked fled before him, and for all the years he and your father occupied Castle Rysen, peace and joy ran deep as a river. "
― Andrew Peterson , North! or Be Eaten (The Wingfeather Saga, #2)
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" Janner admired Tink’s restraint. He knew his little brother could make ugly faces with the best of them, but he chose to stare at the fire instead. Two of the men erected a spit above the fire, flashing black-toothed grins at the children. Janner noticed hundreds of bones in the dirt around the fire pit, some of them tiny fishbones, some of them as long as his arm. It explained why the animals in the forest had been so scarce. He saw the skulls of bumpy digtoads, toothy cows, and daggerfish half buried in the ashes and dirt. There were no human skulls, but with the hungry way the Stranders looked at them, he wouldn’t have been surprised. "
― Andrew Peterson , North! or Be Eaten (The Wingfeather Saga, #2)
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" Janner sat up, not sure if he was dreaming. After a moment the fog in his brain thinned, and he remembered where he was. He heard the snores and deep breathing of the others, crickets outside the tent, and an owl somewhere in the distance. “I’m so, so sorry,” came the voice again. It was Podo. “Grandpa?” Janner whispered. There was no answer. He crept to where Podo lay. By the faint light in the tent, he could see that his grandfather’s eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. “Grandpa, you’re dreaming,” Janner whispered. "
― Andrew Peterson , North! or Be Eaten (The Wingfeather Saga, #2)
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" Podo considered the man for a moment and said, “Aye. Well. We’ve got food. We’ve got weapons, as you can see. I’m willin’ to let ye have the lot of it if you let us go safe and hale, Claxton Weaver.” Then the old pirate’s voice deepened and his nostrils flared like a mad horse’s. “But if you decide that’s not enough, then ye need to know that my name’s Podo Helmer, and I roved the Strand before you were born, with the likes of Growlfist and the Pounders. Don’t look so surprised, laddie. I crept the West Redoubt with Yule Borron by the light of the Hanger Moon. I’ve sailed the Mighty Blapp a hundred times, from here to the edge of the map, and I can fight with hands, teeth, and even me eyebrows if it comes to it. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?” Claxton Weaver stood aghast, his face so wretched and alarming that even Tink stopped chewing his meat. Nia pulled Leeli close. Janner’s body tensed, and he wished his sword were at hand because he feared he would soon need it. The Stranders around the fire sat still as stone. Podo stood and looked into Claxton’s eyes. “But listen here, Weaver. I can see you rule this bend in the river. I’m old and one-legged, but I’m no fool. If it’s strangers ye don’t like, then save it for the next ones that scrape into yer bend. I’m as much a Strander as you are, I’m no Fang, and I’ve offered you everything we have. If that’s not enough, then me boys and I’ll fight like dragons.” Podo took a step nearer the tall man. “And you’re the first one I aim to lay me teeth and me bushy eyebrows on. "
― Andrew Peterson , North! or Be Eaten (The Wingfeather Saga, #2)
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" Janner’s skin prickled with pride, and he curled his fingers into fists. He knew they were nothing like Podo’s weathered hands, but they would have to do. Claxton’s eyes flitted to Janner and Tink, then Oskar, considering Podo’s threat. “Ye crept the West Redoubt?” he asked. “Really?” “By the light of the Hanger Moon.” Claxton’s eyes narrowed and burned with a cold light. Such a fierce look passed between the two men that Janner cringed, as if all the darkness in each man’s soul poured out and fought a great battle in the space between them. It wasn’t clear who won, but Claxton appeared satisfied that Podo was at least a worthy enemy, if not a comrade. The tension faded from the bearded man’s face, and he smiled. “Then I’ve found a reason to allow ye to live, Podo Helmer. You’re gonna tell us a tale—an account of the Strand in the days of yer youth. Me clan and I will sleep tonight with the thrill of old stories in our bones.” Claxton’s smile vanished and he lowered his voice. “But if what ye have to give ain’t good enough, old man, then it’ll be the Blapp or my blade for you and your company. We Stranders can fight like dragons too, remember.” Claxton turned to his clan. “Can’t we?” The Stranders bared their teeth and hissed. In one deadly motion, the men, women, and children around the fire drew their knives, ready to leap over the fire at Claxton’s order. 23
Growlfist the Strander King Podo stood before the Stranders, shifting his weight from his good leg to his stump and back again. Claxton sat on a log in the center of his clan, his arms folded across his chest. The Igibys and Oskar gathered behind Podo. The fire had burned down to a steady red glow that turned the air the color of a bad dream. "
― Andrew Peterson , North! or Be Eaten (The Wingfeather Saga, #2)
