The Plan

Stripes found a warm patch of rock by the lake to lay and dry his fur and soon fell asleep. Runt, meanwhile, sat and thought, and wondered. The sun slowly dipped lower, and the shadows lengthened, and still he sat. He planned to move on after nightfall but was now, more than ever, unsure of his plan. He came to the quarry to learn about the slaves, maybe even help them, but the people he found were wild and vicious creatures who seemed to need no help that he could offer.

Runt looked longingly down at the boats, now fully loaded, and hauling out of the harbour. Part of him dreamed of stowing away aboard one of those ships. Surely there was a place out there, in the Great Beyond, where he would be welcome, where he could find a family? Runt wondered, not for the first time, why anyone would have left him as a baby on Tyron’s doorstep. Who could have imagined that was a good idea? Were they so desperate to be rid of him that the nearest doorstep was far enough? He wondered how his life might have changed if he had been dropped, say, by the baker’s doorstep. Their family seemed nice enough, from a distance, and their building always smelled of the delicious things they were cooking. He could’ve had a good life, as a baker’s son. He thought, once more, about who must have dropped him there, by the kennels. Were they still alive? Did he have any other family left, any real family?

His gaze fell onto Stripes. He didn’t think the dog would like travelling on a boat very much. Plus, the pup was not that good at hiding. They would probably be spotted before the boat even set sail. Then what? The troopers would drag Runt up to the city and lock him in the dungeons. Or, worse, they would take him back to the kennels. And who knows what they would do to a pup with the stripes of a wolf?

It was decided, then. Safety was in the Wilds. They could find food, water, and craft a shelter. They would remain as ghosts. If they were in want of anything they would forage for it by sneaking, in the dark of night, in the cottages and the shacks, and take whatever they must.

One other thing happened as Runt sat waiting for sunset. He moved to the lake to drink and marvelled at the completely still, crystal clear water. Water like this, he decided, was a luxury. Out in the scrub water was hidden in juicy leaves, or in fruit, or by digging where the earth felt damp. The water here oozed out of the rock in a trickle that collected in this pool. Tears from the dragon itself.

Runt paused and saw his reflection clearly for the very first time in his life. The waters acted like a mirror, a thing he had only imagined and heard tales of. He regarded himself. His bushy mop of hair hung low towards the water. He froze for a second, then quickly grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled it back from his face while squeezing his eyes shut. Then, slowly, he opened them again. He looked, of course, for the thing that made him so hideous. For the thing that forced Tyron to keep his hair long against the rules. For the ugliness that made him unfit to walk in the daylight.

Were his eyes a bit large, a bit too wide? His nose too small? His lips too plump? Runt stared for a long time. He turned his head to one side to see what his nose looked like from an angle and then froze.

“Oh.” He said. “Well. That solves that question.”

He let his hair fall back, sat against the rock wall, and thought some more.

Although he didn’t know it at the time, Runt was about to see something that changed his life forever. He might not have felt so bored and irritated if he had known the importance of this moment. Stripes slept on, occasionally twitching and wuffing, chasing rabbits in his dreams. Runt watched the shadows growing ever longer as the sun sank towards the horizon. He was itching to move but, the more he wished the sun to set, the longer it seemed to take.

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He had decided on The Plan. He and Stripes would search the Deep Wilds for the perfect hideout. He would choose a fey-tree, naturally, as his base, and convert one of the nests into a shelter. Ideally, he wanted easy water. Runt suspected he could find more of these springs in the foothills of the mountains. A fey-tree near a spring, then.

Runt looked across the Wilds at the fey-trees. They stood out due to the clearings around them, and because of their height. He noticed, though, some clearings were missing their trees – those nearest to the quarry. Runt started to count how many were missing and gave up after he ran out of fingers and toes. The gorgons had been busy. His base, then, should be further away. It would be a shame to find the perfect hideout only to have the gorgons tear down his tree in the middle of the night.

All the Wilds were in shadow, now, as the sky reddened towards dusk. All, besides the small wedge of green that grew this side of the port road. Those trees were still illuminated as the sun, in its final descent, shone directly through the maw of the dragon. Runt watched the shadows creep without really looking. Then, something strange appeared: small dark dots, moving from right to left, across the road.

Runt rubbed his eyes and squinted. He wasn’t imagining them. Something flew from one side of the road to the other. Some kind of bird, he guessed. A bunch of pigeons? They often flew in groups. Something about the way they moved, though, didn’t seem right. He traced their movements back and saw they were coming from a fey-tree. An enormous fey-tree on the south side of the road. Runt had already thought to visit this one but knew he needed to wait till full dark to cross. This tree was nearly twice as large as the next tallest, a real giant, and from it came a stream of these small, dark dots heading over to this, the north side of the Wilds.

Runt continued watching them and realised they were flying towards the fey-trees on this side of the road. The cluster of tiny dots split up as they flew. Some came nearer, others further, but all of them reached a fey-tree and vanished into its foliage.

At the very moment of sunset, the light shining through the Drake’s maw developed a brilliant red hue. This ruby glow fell upon the fey-trees nearest the roadside and, in a flash, clouds of pollen burst forth.

“The spirit of the Dragon!” Runt gasped, as he leaned forwards to watch the gust of wind shake the trees and carry the pollen high above the canopy. This time, though, something rose with it. Those dark dots spiralled up and up, darting through the haze of pollen, until they reached the top of the cloud. Then, they began flying away, onto the next fey-trees, the cluster of specks fragmenting into smaller groups as they moved on.

The fey-trees further north sat in the shadow of the mountains. The flying creatures were almost invisible in the twilight but, squinting till his vision blurred, Runt saw them crash into the foliage and watched the pollen burst forth from this next set of trees. The pattern repeated. The creatures spiralled up, flew on, reached another tree, and the pollen burst forth. On and on they flew away northward around the loop until they were too distant to make out. The clouds of pollen, though, were still visible, glowing in the dying light of dusk.

“The spirit of the dragon,” Runt whispered, “What were those things? Were they eating the pollen? And where are they going?”

This last question, at least, was answered a little while later. Runt shook Stripes awake and they headed down the mountain. He had a hunch about the creatures and their destination. As the boy and his dog followed the track Runt occasionally paused and looked over towards the giant fey-tree across the road. A little while later, his guess was confirmed.

“They’re back!” He yelled, then immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. The cry echoed off the mountain face.

Looking towards the giant fey-tree Runt saw the dots approaching. They were harder to make out, now, as the skies were darkening towards true night. The pollen clouds, though, were easy enough to spot. They ascended above the shadows and glittered in the fading light. Like a series of technicolour candles being lit along a bench, one after another the trees burst forth their pollen in a line headed back towards the port. Runt watched as the first of the creatures made it back to the giant fey-tree and nearly cried out again. This tree, too, erupted into a cloud of pollen. It was the biggest cloud by far, and in amongst it, hundreds of the dark dots began circling up, around, and through the pollen.

“They did a full lap of the island! That’s incredible!” he whispered to Stripes excitedly. Stripes simply wagged his tail.

Finding the perfect hideout would have to wait. Runt wanted to learn everything he could about these new creatures. How quickly plans could change!