Chapter XII: Spikefrill Peak
Once the storm was over, we continued on our way, being very careful not to slip on the frozen sky-rocks that covered the ground. We found the runner waiting up ahead. He had found shelter under a large tree which, luckily for him, was still standing despite all the sky-sparks.
Meanwhile at Longneck Rock...
"We should continue on," snorted Clubtail. "The storm probably killed those fools, and we can do nothing for the sick."
"Now, now, Mr. Clubtail," said Grandpa. "We'll wait another week, and if they don't show up by then, we'll leave. Agreed?"
"Agreed," said the herd.
The three of us met with no further adventures on our way to Spikefrill Peak, but once we got to its base, our troubles started anew.
The runner, being small and light, had no trouble climbing the mountain, but threehorns and thicknoses are built for level ground, and we did not at all appreciate the showers of stones that the runner rained down on us.
While the threehorn was struggling to climb up onto the next ledge and I was pushing him from behind (I was not at all inclined to have it the other way around, for obvious reasons) the runner knocked down another stone, which hit a slightly larger one, which dislodged an even larger one, and so on, until we saw a huge boulder rolling down on us.
I noticed that the ledge I was on was relatively wide and flat, and (I am ashamed to say it) ran to the right. As I have said, I was pushing the threehorn from behind, and without my support, he tumbled down and the boulder tumbled after him.
I saw him on a lower ledge, bruised but otherwise unhurt, but the boulder seemed to be following him. I shut my eyes and reproached myself for being such a ninny. I heard the runner shout to him, "Get out of the way!" Then I heard a heavy thud.
I slowly opened my eyes and saw that the boulder had just barely missed the threehorn. But what really attracted my attention was that, if it was not my imagination, the boulder was glowing blue!
We went on our painful way up the mountain--did I mention that another storm was brewing--until the runner shouted that he had spotted a strange-looking plant with a beautiful red flower and large green leaves with sharp tips.
I cheered, for I knew it must be the lifeleaf, when the storm ruined everything. A sky-spark struck the plant, burning it to a crisp, and, though the runner looked around everywhere, he could find none like it.
We knew that there was no use in staying on the mountain, so we got down it as quickly as possible and made our way back to the herd with heavy hearts.