Dunstan pressed his back against the trunk of the tree. What was it? Did it hear him? He waited, heart pounding. A slurping, chewing sound came from the bushes. The young oblate from the monastery peeked around the tree. Did that branch move? He froze. Twigs crunched and snapped as if stomped by a large creature. Did bears live on this island? Could it be a dragon, or worse, a loatron beast? He held his breath until his lungs burned. Silence. Maybe the creature had moved on.
Creeping out from behind the tree, he inched his way closer. Dunstan searched the woods. The bushes were not as thick behind the berry patch. Daylight shone beyond the dark wall of trees. A clearing, or even a way out? But how could he get out of this creepy forest with a wild animal in the way? He eased a branch back and peered inside the bushes.
A scaly face peered back—just a goat. Wait, purple scales glittered on its face where there should have been hair. Shrieking, he released the branch. It slapped the reptilian goat-like muzzle. The creature screeched and disappeared.
Dunstan bolted through the woods, trying not to run into a tree. Branches tore at his robe, and vines snagged his feet, but he kept running. He looked back to see if the creature followed him. Hoofbeats faded off in the other direction. That scream. Had it been a shriek of fear or rage?
Slowing to a jog, he looked around. He was lost. His shortcut through the woods was a disaster. These stupid trees go on forever. I’m going to get eaten by a loatron. The other monks at the monastery will never even find my body.
Squawking, a bird burst from the bushes in front of him. Dunstan wheeled about and raced away.
His soft, leather shoes slipped in the mud. He came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a steep bank. Below, the rain-swollen stream swirled past. Arms flailing, he stepped back only to have the ground roll under his feet. The waterlogged soil on the bank gave way. He screamed. “No. Help!”
He tumbled down towards the roaring water. Pain shot through his arm when a jutting branch ripped his bag off his shoulder. Sticks and rocks gouged his legs and back as he skidded down the hillside. He landed with a splash in the cold water. The strong current dragged him to the middle of the stream.
Splashing and snorting, he struggled to stand. Heavy summer rains had created a roaring river out of a meandering stream. Knocked off his feet, he fought to keep his head above the water. Spitting out a mouthful of muddy water, he flailed about as sticks and debris slammed into him and moved on.
If he could reach the side and catch hold of a tree root or the tall grass growing there. His black woolen robe soaked up the water like a sponge. It clung to his legs and dragged him under.
His head popped up to the surface. He coughed and sputtered. A large tree branched swirled by, and he snatched at it. Clinging to it, he managed to float enough to keep his head out of the brown, foaming water.
“Here, grab my tail. Hurry.” A boy’s voice shouted above the roar of the stream. Not a boy. Dunstan shook wet curls from his eyes. The lizard-goat creature sat on a fallen log that straddled the stream.
Head twisted over its shoulder, its scaly lizard lips moved. “Grab my tail. I’ll pull you out.” It waved a long, purple tail that dangled above the creek.
Saying a quick prayer, Dunstan released the branch and thrashed toward the log. Lunging forward, he caught the tail with both hands. The water tugged at him, but he was no longer drifting. Until three bony fingers at the end of the tail clutched at his wrist and grabbed him back.
Coming next month is Part 2 of The Loatron in the Woods.
If you liked this short story contact me and let me know. To learn more about Dunstan check out my middle-grade fantasy novel SARGON THE NOT SO GREAT available on Amazon.
