Last month, we found Dunstan, a boy studying to become a monk, lost in a spooky forest. Fleeing a bizarre creature, he falls into a stream and is swept away by the current. The drowning boy is shocked when the purple creature he saw before rushes to save him. And now, part 2 of The Loatron in the Woods.
With a shout, Dunstan released the tail and flung his arms up. He was swept under the log and back into the current.
“I’m coming! You’ll be all right.” The creature raced ahead, galloping along the bank. It splashed into the creek. Its four cloven hooves slipped and slid on the rocky bottom. Stumbling, it recovered its balance. Larger than a goat but smaller than a pony, the creature waded deeper into the water. It turned around, facing the bank, and flung its tail into the creek. “Catch it as you go by, and don’t let go this time.”
Dunstan shuddered. He seized the rope-like tail as he drifted past. His hands avoided the fingers at the end. The tail felt similar to a cow’s tail; it was bony but more flexible.
“Hold on tight,” Lizard-goat called.
He gripped the tail with both hands. The creature grunted and started forward; wading out of the stream, it dragged the clinging boy along. Dunstan slid onto the muddy bank. The purple face turned. Large brown eyes stared down at him.
“You’re out now. Let go. I think you stretched it.” Dunstan let go and rolled over, allowing the creature to examine its sore tail. “Ow, I think you broke something.” The lizard goat coiled its tail and folded its hind legs, sitting beside the gasping monk.
“Thank you.” Dunstan closed his eyes.
“You’re welcome.” The voice sounded like a human boy’s voice only slightly slurred. “I’m Sargon, Son of Cairn.”
He opened his eyes and sat up. “Dunstan, Brother Dunstan. From St. Colum’s Abbey.”
“A monk? I haven’t seen you in Clewside before. You’re kind of young to be a brother.” Sargon collapsed onto his side.
“I’m not a monk yet. Still an oblate. Next year, when I turn fifteen, I’ll be a novice, then a monk.” He stretched his legs. Nothing broken.
“I’m almost fifteen, well, twelve summers old,” Sargon said. “Are you new to Clewside?”
Groaning, Dunstan wrung out his sopping wool robe. “I came to Enda last month. I’m a copyist in the church’s library.” He pulled at the torn leggings he wore under his tunic. At least he hadn’t lost his shoes. The swollen leather ties were still knotted. Really knotted. His numb fingers picked at the laces.
“You write books? I’ve seen some of the centaur’s books. The pictures are wonderful.”
Dunstan frowned. His ink and parchment were gone. Where was his shoulder bag? The tree branch. “I don’t write books. I copy them. Someday, I want to be an artist and paint pictures. I was going to draw a centaur when I fell into the creek.”
“The younger centaurs might let you draw them. The older ones are busy studying the stars or protecting the island.” Sargon scratched the base of his horn with the stubby fingers at the end of his tail. “I could take you to their village and introduce you. What’s wrong?”
He realized he was staring. Dunstan closed his mouth. “You’re tail.” A shudder ran through his thin frame. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’ve never seen anyone like you. What are you? I mean—”
“It’s all right. Humans from the mainland have a hard time with mythicals at first.” Sargon grinned.
“Mythicals?”
“Dragons, centaurs, or loatrons like me.”
Dunstan stiffened. His heart pounded. “Loatrons!” He took a step back.
“Yes, I’m a loatron.” Sargon stood. “What’s wrong with loatrons?”
“But loatrons are gigantic, man-eating beasts.” Dunstan felt his cheeks burn.
“We’re what? We don’t eat people. Who told you loatrons eat people?” Sargon squinted, his scaly lips curled.
“The stable hands at the abbey. They told me to take this shortcut through the woods and beware of loatrons.” Dunstan grinned as Sargon roared with laughter. “Being the youngest at St. Colum’s, I get teased a lot.”
Sargon stopped laughing. “I know how you feel. Sometimes I get teased too, ’cause—” He blushed purple. “I run away when I get frightened.”
“You’re not a coward. You saved my life.”
“No, I’m not a coward, exactly. My legs just take off running and can’t stop.” Sargon winced. “I ran from you when I saw you in the bushes. Only I got lost and circled back when I heard you yelling.”
“I’m glad you did. I can’t swim.” His teeth chattered. He wrapped his arms around himself.
“I’d better get you back to the abbey before you freeze to death,” Sargon said.
“I need my bag. It has my inkhorn and pens in it.”
The two climbed the bank and walked upstream, searching. The leather bag hung from a tree branch. Dunstan studied the slippery slope. He gripped a sapling and leaned over. His foot slipped, and he jerked back.
“Here, let me try.” Sargon snagged the strap of the bag with his tail and pulled it over to Dunstan.
“Thanks. Your tail sure is useful.” It did not seem as strange now, almost like an arm and hand.
The loatron led him out of the woods. “There’s the main road to Clewside.” Sargon’s tail pointed towards the town. Then, it whipped around, pointing in the opposite direction. “The same road north leads to the centaur caves.” Sargon’s eyes twinkled. Both youngsters burst out laughing. The road went right past the woods—much easier than the stable boy’s shortcut.
“You better hurry and change those wet clothes. You’re bluer than me.” Sargon nodded. “If you want, meet me here next week, and I’ll take you to meet the centaurs.”
“Thank you.” Dunstan smiled. “I’m not supposed to leave the abbey but Brother Eamon lets me run errands for him. I’ll ask if I can come back around this time next Thursday.”
Sargon looped his tail around a bucket nestled beneath the blackberry bushes. Behind him the road curved.
Dunstan couldn’t believe it. He had been next to the road the entire time. “Meet you here by these bushes?” He squeezed muddy water from the bottom of his wool robe.
“Sure. I was picking berries when I ran into you.” Sargon’s long ears swiveled. He turned his head. “What’s that?”
Grunting and rustling sounds came from the bushes. A pointy, black muzzle pushed through the greenery. It blinked tiny, black eyes at them.
“Bear!” Sargon dropped the bucket and bolted towards the caves.
Yanking his robe to his knees, Dunstan raced off in the opposite direction towards town. He glanced back. The bear gobbled scattered blackberries off the ground. It was uninterested in them. Slowing to a jog, Dunstan looked north. All he could see of his new friend was a cloud of dust disappearing into the distance. Even horses can’t run that fast. He squished his way back to Clewside and left the bear to his meal.
Read more about Sargon and Dunstan’s adventures in the fantasy novel Sargon The Not So Great.
