A loud smack rang through the air, followed by a grunt of disgust. A purple coloured flyer stared in horror at the huge, crushed bug in his palm, then at the gooey smear on his side where he'd slapped it off. Hissing, Soar wiped his hand off on the trunk of an adjacent tree then glared at the two other flyers, Beaks and Tailbone, as they snickered at his reaction. “I hate this place,” Soar muttered.
“It sure loves you…” Tailbone chuckled, glancing at Beaks. “That’s, what, the tenth time he’s been bitten?”
“More like the hundredth. Must be because he tastes so good,” Beaks grinned, then flinched as Soar flicked the remnants of the squashed bug’s juice at him. “Hey!”
Ignoring his protests, Soar turned to Tero, gesturing in Tailbone and Beaks’ direction. “The tracks keep going in that direction. We almost done here? Flyers don’t belong down on the ground.” He desperately waved a hand to ward off yet another insect that came buzzing perilously close to his head.
Watching, Guido felt he had to agree. Of course, it wasn’t until relatively recently that he’d managed to start gliding and spend less time walking, but now that he’d experienced that freedom, it just seemed so much more… vulnerable down here. Especially in the mysterious beyond – and given who they were looking for, that helpless feeling was only intensified.
Tero stood up from where he’d been crouched, examining the base of a large tree. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re done here.” He stared at the spattered blood, long since dried in the dirt. “We were right. One of them is hurt. Badly. We should be able to catch up with that one soon, at least.”
As Soar and the other flyers nodded eagerly, something caught Guido’s eye. He hopped off the log he’d been perched on and walked over to a small green blob. Bending down, he scooped it up and held it out for the others to see. “Maybe not as hurt as you think. This paste… it’s made of leaves that can help with cuts and bites. A friend showed me once… And if it’s near where all this blood is…”
Soar scoffed. “Sharpteeth don’t know anything about that stuff.”
“One of them does – this was done recently.” Tero bent to examine the paste that Guido held up. He considered a moment. “Odd. They’re young, clumsy enough to wake up half the valley, but they know medicine?” Tero shook his head. “This doesn’t change anything. Come on, we’re wasting time.”
As Tero and the others took off, following the direction the tracks led in, Guido glanced down at the dried medicinal paste in his hand. These sharpteeth they were tracking… they weren’t just any sharpteeth. What’s going on? Swallowing, his throat dry, Guido followed the other flyers, his unease deepening.
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Hyp grimaced, the corners of the young hypsilophodon’s mouth turning downwards, his brow creased in a scowl as he sat despondently at the nest belonging to him and his father. Far off in the distance, Hyp could see his father among the large group of adults who had clustered together near the lake’s edge to discuss what should be done next about the sharpteeth, the ones who had managed to sneak in.
He stared for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, then lifted himself up off the rock he was resting against with a heavy sigh. Casting a sly gaze around to see who was in earshot, Hyp folded his arms across his chest. He kicked the ground. He shook his head. He sighed again, then kicked the ground once more for good measure. “I can’t believe my dad told me to guard the nest…” he complained loudly. “If they just let me help, I could take out those sharpteeth no problem. Just give me a day… or two to make it more fair, and BLAM!” Hyp pounded his fist into his left palm. “It’s goodnight sharptooth losers!”
This was, of course, all bluster. Inside, Hyp was supremely relieved that his father had instructed him to stay at the nest, where it was safe and protected. Where he wouldn’t have to worry about being dragged away by bloodthirsty monsters, jaws crunching, teeth tearing, claws ripping…. Hyp almost shuddered, catching himself just in time.
And the hatchlings… those brats didn’t stand a chance… Deep down, Hyp felt bad that the small longneck and his friends had been taken. After all, if it hadn’t been for them, right now he’d be at the bottom of that tar pit – but closer to the surface, closer to the skin that he cared about most, the thought that just kept repeating in Hyp’s mind was ëBetter them than me… better them than me…’ But at least he wouldn’t have to worry about anything. All he’d have to do was sit back, sit right here, like his father instructed, and let the adults sort all this out. Then the danger would be over…
“Just one punch,” he announced, raising his voice to nobody in particular and waving his fists for emphasis, “And it’s over!”