Chapter XI: Storm

The storm started out gently enough, as an ordinary shower of sky-water.

But the amount of the sky-water gradually increased to a torrent almost as heavy as the Thundering Falls I can see as I write. We could still see the Thick Water behind us, and it was getting higher.

Then the sky-sparks came. After each blinding flash came a peal of thunder that sounded like a hundred longnecks marching in step.

A sky-spark hit a nearby log. This log was sheltered from the rain by a canopy of tall trees, and was quickly consumed by fire, which then spread to the other trees. Before long the fire had become too large to be put out by the sky-water. We ran. The runner, knowing that he could do nothing for us, darted ahead, while the brave threehorn stayed with me to support me.

As I later found out from my friends the rainbowfaces, the rest of the herd at Longneck Rock were fortunate enough not to suffer from this storm, but there was heavy sky-water. However, Threehorn was weeping for Agatha and going off into one of those moods. If he had not listened to the Longnecks, he said, he would already be at the Great Valley with Agatha still alive. He completely forgot about the scrapebiter sharpteeth that he and his group could not have fought off by themselves.

But what was that to me at that time? I was being pursued from behind by a fire, and from above by sky-sparks. As if that wasn't enough...

I heard an unmistakable roar. It was a twoclaw sharptooth, and it was after me and my threehorn friend, who for some reason or other never told me his name.

Fear gave my feet wings, and I ran faster than I ever had before. Though the threehorn was fit and running at top speed, I somehow managed to keep pace with him. Fortunately twoclaws are slow and rather stupid.

Suddenly the sharptooth tripped on a rock. A sky-spark struck a tree next to him, and it fell on top of him. Since it was a cloud-tearer (the farwalkers call it "redwood") I doubt he ever recovered.

Then the threehorn saw a cave, which we made for as fast as we could go, or even faster.

Sky-water was a regular occurrence, but I was unpleasantly surprised when other things began to fall from the sky.

These looked like rocks, but were white, cold, usually almost perfectly round, and very hard.

During this time, back at Longneck Rock, Threehorn was berating the Longnecks in full view of the herd, talking about Cera and Agatha and everything else.

Grandpa, for so he is best known to those who will read this history after I complete my circle, knew better than to argue with Threehorn when he was in this mood. All he said was, "When I was younger, I lost three children in an earthshake. Now I have lost my fourth, and become separated from my only grandchild. I understand, Mr. Threehorn. I understand."

Threehorn continued to yell and scream for a while, then, realizing that not all of the liquid on his face was sky-water, ran out of view of the herd.

"Threehorns," snorted Clubtail contemptuously.

A spiketail said, "Clubtail, did you ever lose a child?"

"No," huffed Clubtail. "I never had one. Kids are just plain trouble."

The spiketail said, "Once I was just like you. In fact, I hate to admit it, but I used to destroy my mate's eggs as soon as she wasn't looking. (Here the herd gasped.) So one day she snuck off and came back five days later.

I asked her where the egg was, but she said nothing. Not long after that she was attacked by a sharptooth. I fought that beast off, but she was mortally wounded. Before she died she kept repeating, 'yellow grass'. I didn't have any idea what she was talking about, but later I realized she must have been talking about where the egg was hidden. I wish I could make up for all of this." Then he too started to weep.

This story was told to me only recently. I realized that this must have been Spike's father. He used to watch Spike playing with his friends, then, unable to bear being reminded of that egg any longer, joined a herd of farwalking spiketails, found a new mate, and became the father of a certain Tippy.

Meanwhile, the frozen sky-rocks were pelting me and the threehorn hard. It is fortunate for the threehorns that they have solid frills, but my friend looked ludicrous with balls of frozen water stuck on all three of his horns. As for me, I am a thicknose with a holey frill, and the sky-rocks caused me great pain.

Finally we reached the cave and had to wait several hours before the storm stopped. All that was missing from it was a whirling wind, and if I had said that there I think that there would have been one. Uh-oh, I think I see the signs of one now.

P.S. The whirling wind came and I survived to continue this history. Of course, I managed to do this by hiding in a cave.