---
On the stage, Master Hale saw the same shape in the yard and lifted her hand to Master Venn. He stepped down one step. She did not yet. She looked at the guard to her right and tilted her head. The guard nodded and moved along the front of the crowd, slow and sure.
Fartray drew his arm back another inch. This was the breath where men choose. This was the breath where a bully with a clean coat and a dirty cheek decides if he is bigger than his name or smaller.
Fizz's ears were high now. His paws were open, ready to push left or up. He did not look like a spiritual beast. He looked like a small person ready to dodge a stone thrown by a small child. He said one more thing, because he could not help it.
"Hey look," Fizz called, bright and sunny now, the way you announce a sweet roll from a window, "a fart is about to pop."
That did it.
