Peter and the Shadow Thieves [antikvár]

peck on the /horizon A mango, thought Peter. The perfect weapon. The scrawny, sunburned boy, dressed in a tattered shirt and pants torn off below scabby knees, brushed the unkempt reddish hair out of his face. It fell right back into his eyes as he bent to the sandy soil and scooped up the plump red-and-yellow fruit sphere, a bit bigger than an orange. The mango was squishy to the touch, too ripe for eating. But it was just the thing to drop on somebody's head from a great height. And Peter knew precisely whose head he wanted to drop it on. Holding the sweet-smelling mango in his left hand, Peter raised his right hand over his head and, pointing his index finger skyward, sprang up and rose swiftly from the earth. It was a dramatic takeoff, and totally unnecessary: Peter—an expert flyer now, after three months' practice—could float easily upward in any position. But he enjoyed impressing the other boys.