CHAPTER EIGHT

OVER THE FRIGHTENING GORGE

At the same moment Fenn was following the Thistle Witch up a steep, winding hill in the heart of the Bitter Barrens, the famous knight, Sir Morlique, was galloping furiously along a narrow ravine a hundred kilometers to the north.  Nostromo, the muscular black horse, had been keeping pace with the cowardly dragon all night long.  But over the last few hours, the scaly beast had slipped further away into the horrid territory known as the Great Waste. 

       And now, as horse and rider thundered along the greasy banks of the River Gloom, they could see the beast beginning to lose altitude in the far distance.

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