Zandor shrugged; "good enough," he said, leaping from the roof. For a second, at the zenith of his plummet, everything froze. Then started to move again. Very, very fast.
He smiled. Falling from mortal heights was a lovely activity, in his estimation; it made one feel alive, conscious, free. But more important than the fall was the forward roll that must be executed upon hitting the ground. And Zandor had that perfected. With his eyes closed, he focused intently on the tips of his toes, and when he felt the ground, he relaxed his legs and threw himself forward and rolled on his shoulders and hopped to his feet. He now stood directly in front of Tamina, hands outstretched nonthreateningly. He gave her a moment to size him up - after all, she hadn't seen him yet - and then said, "so, the river?"