With both hands, Rikit brought the steak knife down on the taut string. The plastic spoon, released, launched the walnut toward the ceiling, where it was caught midway by one of several spatulas. Step by step, Targo's machine unfolded. At last, the heavy jug of rice toppled off the countertop, dragging more string with it. The refrigerator door creaked. Rikit and Targo held their breath. The door swung shut again. The tiny figures sighed.
Nora sighed, too, her head on her paws. She knew who would be blamed for the mess when the Master arrived home.
Because it's been a while since I indulged my fondness for gnomes (or did a particularly light flitterfic), and you can really never have too many gnomes, can you?
Pinker on When Being Too Bright Ruins Writing
14 hours ago