Apologies for the long wait guys, had to sort some stuff out as well as getting the next chapter written out. It was really difficult, but this one was finished a long while ago. Talk about a pain in the ass.

Please enjoy!

Brothers Under the Bright Circle

Chapter 6

The Long Road Awaiting

Dawn crept across the devastated land, already the Bright Circle's scorching heat was warming the ground. As it peeked over the horizon, it shone until it forced Whiplash's eyes open. He groaned as he lifted his head from the ground, blinking some of the sleep from his eyes and yawned loudly. He found himself glaring at the Bright Circle's desire to wake him up so early, but he knew it was pointless to start blaming nature for doing what it did. How could he?

Stretching his legs, he heaved himself up from his resting spot and took the time to scan his surroundings. From what he could see, the land was completely different from what he remembered. Then again, it had changed a lot from yesterday's earthshake, and his stomach dropped like a stone when he recalled how he missed it after being knocked unconscious. The body of Littlefoot's mother had been put far behind them, and he could see the ravine that had been slashed into the earth like an open wound (he flinched from the stinging of the rakes on his injured side) toward the east. Down below it was where they had left her… He shook his head, determined to keep the memories at bay as best as he could. Toward the west, the land was open and barren, empty of life. That was the way he and Littlefoot had to go if he remembered correctly, but as far as memory goes, he was bad at it.

With him and Littlefoot alone without the protection of other longnecks, he knew it was up to him to protect them both, even if it killed him. His sole priority was the safety of his little brother, no matter what the cost was. He recalled last night's promise and he tightened his muscles with determination, his tail raising itself a little to twitch at the tip.

As far as he was concerned, he was ready.

But, unfortunately, nature had to call because he soon felt his stomach growl in hunger and thirst. Stars, he hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday and he mumbled his annoyance at forgetting his daily needs. He supposed Littlefoot was also hungry, and thirsty, given the situation at hand.

It was time to move on, and fast.

He bent his head down to see if Littlefoot was awake, but he stopped short.

Littlefoot was gone.

Alarmed, he lifted his head and searched frantically, hoping to find a sign.

How long had he been gone?

When did he sneak out?

How did he not notice him leaving?

Whiplash cursed himself for lowering his guard. He was supposed to be watching out for him!

Something caught his eye on the ground and he looked down.

Tiny longneck tracks were coming down from the entrance to the cave and heading downhill.

He held his breath.

Anxiously, he trotted forward. The tracks were leading him toward the desert, moving slowly but still fast enough to get a distance between them and the cave.

Eventually, Whiplash crested over a sandy dune, and his heart sunk at what he saw.

There was Littlefoot, curled up in the footprint of a longneck and whimpering. Dried tear streaks stained his youthful face and Whiplash felt nothing but terrible. His heart had never sunk so low at the pitiful sight of his little brother.

Despite Rooter's kind words of encouragement, Littlefoot's mind was still traumatised from the loss of his mother. It had never occurred to Whiplash just how emotionally distressed he was, and he waited patiently. However, his mind continued to wrestle with heart, tugging him in a different direction.

As painful as it was to see Littlefoot like this, and as much as he wanted to give the child some more time, it would do them no good if they stayed any longer.

He sighed regrettably, slumping his shoulders as he made his decision.

He calmly moved over toward him.

The moment Littlefoot heard the familiar tremors of an approaching figure, he knew that it was pointless to stay. He slowly picked himself up and numbly crawled out, sniffing. He stopped to look back at the dried spots his tears had left behind, but already the sand was claiming them. He hung his head and approached Whiplash.

"Littlefoot," Whiplash said, relieved, bending his neck down to his level, "are you alright?"

Littlefoot glanced up at him, surprised. When he looked into Whiplash's yellow eyes, he almost expected him to have no trace of emotion, but all he saw was relief, concern, and… something else? He wasn't sure what else he detected, but he jumped back when Whiplash gently wrapped his head around his back.

"I…" he tried to say, but no words came.

Whiplash watched him closely, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"I miss her," Littlefoot managed to say. "I miss her so much."

He gasped when Whiplash used his head to bring him over to one of his forelegs, forcing him to wrap his paws around it. What was he doing? When he didn't pull away, it took him a minute to realise that Whiplash was hugging him in the best way that he could.

"I miss her too, Littlefoot," Whiplash whispered, although his voice was once again calm but Littlefoot was sure he was trying to hide his own grief. "I should have been there to help her fight Sharptooth."

Littlefoot gently stroked his grey-brown leg comfortingly. "You don't have to be sorry, Whiplash," he said.

Whiplash held him for a little moment longer, but in the end, life had to move on. The urgency to find resources had never been so strong. "As much as it hurts to stay and not leave her, but we really can't, Littlefoot," he explained. "She wanted us to keep going, for your sake."

Littlefoot nodded, using a paw to wipe away his tears.

Whiplash released his hold on him.

"Do you remember the way to the Great Valley?" Whiplash asked.

Littlefoot shook his head dejectedly, his face twisting into a frown. "No… I don't remember…"

"Littlefoot."

Suddenly, the ground around the two of them seemed to brighten and a shadow shaped like a star twirled, becoming smaller as it came down. Both Littlefoot and Whiplash looked up to see what appeared to be a green object. Their eyes suddenly became bigger when they realised that it was a treestar descending down from the heavens.

Shocked, Littlefoot stepped back from Whiplash as the treestar came down toward the footprint he had been in just moments ago. It landed softly in the middle and the two peered down into it, watching as the water inside collected together until Littlefoot could see his own reflection looking back at him.

"Dear Littlefoot," a familiar voice seemed to speak to him and he jumped with surprise, "do you remember the way to the Great Valley?"

He shook his head.

"Follow the Bright Circle, past the Great Rock that looks like a longneck, and past the Mountains That Burn," the voice instructed. Littlefoot nodded as it continued, "I'll be in your heart, Littlefoot. Let your heart guide you."

Struggling to hold back his tears, Littlefoot picked the treestar up in his mouth and carefully laid it on his back. When he looked up, he saw Whiplash looking down at him, his eyes glistened somewhat before he blinked again.

"I'm ready whenever you are, little brother," he told him with a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his lips.

Nodding, Littlefoot trotted forward with Whiplash following close behind. Together, the two headed west where the Bright Circle would fall. Eventually, they came to the edge of the ravine that continued to bear itself to them. Whiplash looked down at it with disdain and his tail twitched. Littlefoot wasn't too bothered by it, but the memories of yesterday continued to plague his mind. Even though he slept that night while Whiplash guarded him, his sleep stories troubled him.

They kept showing the fight between his mother and Sharptooth, always bloody and brutal. But what haunted him the most was the story eventually switching over to Sharptooth then turning to Whiplash and kicking him off the cliff without hesitation and a desire to kill written all over his tooth-faced maw. Then he had turned to Littlefoot and he killed him right there and then with no one to save him, not even his grandparents.

Whiplash took note on Littlefoot's shivering and he became concerned for his mental health. He wasn't sure what Sharptooth had done to traumatise him when he had been unconscious, but he was certain that the attack on his mother had been anything but pretty to look at.

He decided to do something to keep his mind from wandering, so he spoke to quench the silence. "It looks like we won't be going this way," he explained, motioning to the ravine with his tail, "it's far too deep."

Littlefoot nodded. "Yeah, I'm not very good at climbing," he said gloomily.

"Honestly," said Whiplash, "I think I'm too fat to climb. I'd only make the situation worse."

"Did you just make a joke?" Littlefoot asked, his eyes wide.

Whiplash winked. "I might have."

The wink was barely noticeable from his height, but Littlefoot was certain that he had caught a flicker of his eyes. He frowned. He had never known Whiplash to be a casual joker. He was always serious and very rarely spoke unless he had something important to say, or if the situation was important.

As if he sensed his confusion, Whiplash lowered his neck to his level, his eyes glinting with mirth. "Just because I'm serious, little brother," he told him, "doesn't mean I can't have a little fun."

"That is true," Littlefoot hesitantly agreed.

Whiplash raised his neck and looked at the ravine again, frowning thoughtfully. "Seeing as how this way is barred to us," he said, "we might as well keep moving. Our priority is survival, first and foremost."

Littlefoot tilted his head. "Mother said that you came to our herd before I hatched," he explained. "You know a lot about this."

It wasn't a question, but Whiplash knew that Littlefoot wanted to know about his past, and when Littlefoot saw the frown appear on his face he immediately regretted the topic change. "Sorry," he said hastily, "I didn't know you don't like to talk about."

Whiplash's face softened again. "It's alright, you didn't know. It's not something I… really like to talk about. My past…" His expression changed again, but Littlefoot was certain there was hurt in his eyes. "Listen, its something that is best to not be talked about. What happened to get me to come out here alone before I met your mother and grandparents and learn about survival was something beyond my control."

He shook his head, and the familiar wall of stoicism returned.

Littlefoot lowered his head, nodding. This was a topic that Whiplash did not want to talk about, and if he wanted to stay on his good side, the best idea was to not mention it nor even ask about it. Something happened to him to make him come out alone, something that'd hurt him in more ways than one.

"Come now," Whiplash spoke up, jolting him from his thoughts. The elder longneck was motioning with his head toward the west, urging him onward.

He was about to follow when he spotted a familiar yellow speck near the corner of his eye. His head turned to the right and Whiplash was forced to follow in the same direction. They watched with surprise when they saw a small yellow threehorn moving in frustration around the edge of the ravine.

"Holy stars, it's the threehorn," Whiplash gasped. "She's alive."

"Cera!" Littlefoot shouted, racing over to her as she drew closer.

Whiplash did not budge, but he watched with caution.

When Cera saw the longneck hatchling running toward her, her race twisted to annoyance. While she wasn't at all pleased to see Littlefoot again, she was even less thrilled when she saw Whiplash standing nearby, watching with an equally annoyed look on his face.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her nose horn less than an inch from Littlefoot's neck when he got too close.

"Uh, nothing," Littlefoot said nervously, stepping back to give her space. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find my OWN kind," Cera grunted, sticking her nose in the air pompously, "they're on the other side."

Littlefoot glanced back at Whiplash for any help to convince her, but he was puzzled to see him still standing where he had left him, watching with the same expression as before.

"Well, we've looked all over here," Littlefoot explained to Cera, but he stepped back out of her way as she shoved past him to peer down at the edge, "you can't climb up on the other side."

"Maybe YOU longnecks can't!" Cera snapped.

Before Littlefoot had a chance to stop her, she climbed down onto a ledge less than a foot down from where they were standing. Down below was a steep slope that rolled down to the lower ground level into darkness where the Bright Circle could not even reach.

"No, wait!" Littlefoot said quickly, stopping her. "We're going to the Great Valley, you could come with me and Whiplash. We could, uh… help each other!"

Cera turned her head to look over at the larger longneck, who was ambling up to them. For someone who was incredibly big, he certainly knew how to move very quietly without being noticed until he was almost on top of them. When he was closer to them, Whiplash's expression had changed from annoyed to almost unreadable.

"I am not keen on the idea of travelling with a threehorn, Littlefoot," he said, much to his younger brother's surprise. "It's quite obvious she doesn't want to either."

Littlefoot was speechless.

"Her father was the one that almost got you killed when you two tried to play together, if I remember correctly," Whiplash continued.

Littlefoot was dumbfounded.

While he knew Whiplash was protective, he didn't think he would go so far as to put Cera's kind down just by judging from the experience with her father. It had been quite obvious to Littlefoot that Cera's father had been just as protective as Whiplash had been on that day.

Cera sniffed.

"A threehorn does not need help from longnecks anyway!"

She once again stuck her horn in the air and proceeded to kick dirt in Littlefoot's face. Unfortunately, her act of defiance backfired on her and Whiplash watched with a small hint of satisfaction as she missed her footing. She slid down the steep slope, screaming into the dark ravine below. The two longneck brothers looked down, but they could barely make out her yellowish outline in the darkness.

"Well, at least we wouldn't be alone," Littlefoot called down to her.

Angered at the dent in her pride, Cera got back on her feet and scowled up at them, only to see a faint hint of a smirk on Whiplash's lips. "Well," she shouted up at them, "when I find my family, I won't BE alone! So, go away."

Without a glance over her shoulder, she stuck her tail in the air and marched rather proudly into the depths of the darkness, continuing her rambling about her kind being very dangerous and only travelling with other threehorns.

Littlefoot sighed and turned away, shaking his head. When he looked back at Whiplash, he was surprised to see him looking sympathetic. "Do not bother with her," he told him, "we're just far too different to be in each other's company."

Littlefoot nodded solemnly as the two continued onward, following the Bright Circle that had begun its journey toward the west. Now that it was clear that they would not be finding any means of meeting up with his grandparents, they would have to continue their journey on their own and hopefully meet them on the way or beat them to the Great Valley.

He soon found himself seeking shelter from the blistering heat underneath his older brother, but he was careful to not get in the way of his feet as they moved in almost perfect sync. Throughout the walk for most of the day, Littlefoot found himself drawn to trying to figure out why Whiplash was not forthcoming about his past.

What had he done to end up alone?

Did he have a family?

Did he have friends?

Why did he not like other dinosaurs that weren't longnecks?

All these questions continued to burn through his mind, but he never opened his mouth to ask out of fear that Whiplash would hate him.

They continued in silence until they came upon a clump of trees. Whiplash lifted his head to sniff the air for any scent. He smelt dried and dead green food, almost completely inedible for Littlefoot, but it would have to suffice for the time being. He also picked up faint traces of water, which meant that where there was food there was water. He couldn't smell anything else of interest, and he doubted he would be able to pick up any predator scents anyway. They, however, would smell him from a mile away if they were hunting.

He glanced at Littlefoot, who was gasping from exhaustion, hunger and dehydration.

"There's food, shelter, and water in those trees," he reported, causing Littlefoot to look up with surprise and hope. "I don't know if you'll enjoy the food, but its better than nothing. I recommend we stop there and rest for the night to get our strength back before we continue onward."

Littlefoot nodded in agreement as they reached the oasis, although he wouldn't even call it an oasis.

When they came to the tree line he was quite disappointed, despite Whiplash's warnings about the brown food being distasteful, but he didn't complain and ate and drank what he could. The brown leaves were very bad tasting and he tried very hard to not make disgusted faces.

Fortunately for him, Whiplash was having the same problems. The food he stripped from the highest branches were just as dull tasting as the ones lower to the ground. Like Littlefoot, he was trying very hard to not show how he was finding the taste unpleasant.

"It's better than nothing," Littlefoot grumbled, once he had finished his fill.

"It's the best that we can do until we find something better," Whiplash sighed. He turned to the pond and stuck his head beneath its surface, hoping to find something edible. Much to his disappointment, the water green food was just as disgusting. He squinted his face when the taste rolled on his tongue.

"Although," he said as he swallowed the food, shivering, "I've eaten worse."

Littlefoot looked up at him as he walked over to the edge of the pool. He laid down, keeping his treestar on his back, and crossed his forepaws together. He watched Whiplash with interest. "What was the worst you've eaten?" he asked.

Whiplash paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way he could describe it without going too deeply. "Well, it was… an oasis just like this one, but there was virtually nothing green let alone a single tree growing. They were completely barren. Anyway, when I put my head down into the water to drink, I ended up with a mouthful of water greens, only these ones were really… bad, like rotten to the core bad. The taste was so horrible that I had to use the dirt to wash my tongue off."

Littlefoot's eyes widened. "You used dirt to clean your tongue?!"

Whiplash nodded, grinning good naturedly. "It was better than using the water," he explained, shrugging. "The water was really bad too."

Littlefoot suddenly found himself bursting with laughter, it was a sound that Whiplash had not heard in a while and it made the elder longneck feel warmth in his chest.

He emitted a sigh and glanced up, taking note of the changing landscape. Once again, the Bright Circle was dipping behind the trees and the Night Circle was preparing to take its place. The two of them would have to spend the night here. It was better than wandering aimlessly in the dark without the safety of the trees hiding them from plain view.

Whiplash slowly laid down, tucking his forepaws beneath his chest. He was mindful where he was putting his tail near Littlefoot.

Littlefoot noticed this action and slowly crawled over to him until he was resting against Whiplash's flank where Sharptooth's claws had raked him. When his eyes rested upon the jagged marks, he flinched guiltily. He'd almost forgotten about them. As if sensing his change of mood, Whiplash turned his head to look at him, his eyes calm and his voice gentle.

"They'll fade in time, Littlefoot," he told him kindly. "From my experience with injuries like these, it will not scar."

At the mention of scars, Littlefoot's eyes turned to Whiplash's left cheek where the small scar sat beneath his eye. If those injuries wouldn't scar, how could such a tiny one like that one did? He didn't voice the question, but he was certain that Whiplash knew what he was thinking.

He did.

"I honestly don't know how this one did," he explained, his eyes frowning as he looked down at the scar. "But, let's just say… someone didn't like me to the point where it turned into hatred."

Littlefoot chewed his bottom lip and nodded respectfully. Again, he did not want to bring up the topic of Whiplash's past without seriously upsetting him.

Slowly, Whiplash curled his tail around until Littlefoot could barely see the outside world. If Whiplash remained curled and didn't move, he almost looked like a giant greyish brown boulder. He pointed this out to him and he grinned.

"You catch on quick," he chuckled, "this is exactly the intention. I'm keeping you hidden from the sight from sharp-teeth. It might not stop them from picking up my scent, but it might give them a second thought about attacking me if they only catch my scent. I'm not sure what kind of tactic it is, but it works if we don't want to be seen, especially if they're only using their sight rather than their sniffer."

"That makes sense," Littlefoot commented with a nod, his eyes becoming droopy with exhaustion and he yawned tiredly.

Whiplash nudged him affectionally with his snout. "Rest now," he whispered, "I'll keep watch."

Laying his head down, Littlefoot allowed sleep to overcome him now that he was aware of just how tired he was. He wasn't just physically exhausted, but his emotions had taken a heavy toll on him. While he missed his mother terribly, it didn't make the ache in his stomach go away like Rooter had said it would. How long would it even take? He said in good time, so why not now?

But he didn't have time to ponder the questions because eventually he was asleep.

For a long time, Whiplash scanned his surroundings, keeping an eye out for any potential threats that would pose a danger to him or Littlefoot. Once or twice, he thought he caught a glimpse of a fast biter moving in the bushes, but it was only a figment of his already tired imagination. But now that he was certain that there was no danger, he too prepared to go to sleep.

He was about to drift off to sleep when he was suddenly alerted when he felt movement against his still healing scratches, sending stinging waves running through his body.

He lifted his head with a start and glanced down next to his flank to check on his little brother. To his horror, Littlefoot was twitching and groaning in his sleep.

Littlefoot was having a bad sleep story!

Concerned, Whiplash gently bumped his snout against his little brother's back, trying to wake him.

When he didn't stir, Whiplash nudged a little harder, but not to cause any physical harm.

The rougher treatment seemed to have worked because Littlefoot's eyes shot open and he lifted his head, trembling and gasping as though he had been running for a long time without stopping.

"Shh, easy, Littlefoot," he cooed gently like a father to his uneasy hatchling.

The younger longneck hung his head sadly.

"What was the sleep story about?" Whiplash asked softly, although he knew the answer. "Perhaps I can help."

"Mother…" Littlefoot sighed, sniffing.

Ever so gently, Whiplash pressed his unscarred cheek against Littlefoot, rubbing him comfortingly.

"Thanks," he sighed, although it was not very sincere.

Instantly, Whiplash sensed that something was troubling his young mind, so he waited patiently for him to speak.

Finally, Littlefoot asked, "Have you… lost someone before?"

Silence hung in the air and Littlefoot immediately wanted to bite himself for asking about Whiplash's past again. He caught the bigger longneck turning his head toward the east where the Bright Circle rose in the sky, a seemingly far away look in his usually calm yellow eyes. It felt like a life time before Whiplash eventually looked back at him, his stoic expression now… downcast.

"I used to have a mother," he explained, his voice now filled with sadness, "but she passed away before I even hatched. My father took care of me, raising me and protecting me as best as he could until a kind herd of longnecks led by an elderly female took us both in. I never got a chance to meet my mother, but my father refused to tell me about her fate. All I knew was my father."

Littlefoot tilted his head curiously, but he stopped himself before he asked more.

Whiplash casted his gaze toward Night Circle that was now high in the sky, his eyes now wet with the hint of tears, but he blinked them before they could fall. He shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever memories were lingering in the back of his mind.

"It's late now, Littlefoot," he told him, switching the topic. "Try to get some sleep. You'll need all your strength for tomorrow's travel."

Nodding once more, Littlefoot began to drift off to sleep. He was glad Whiplash was kind enough to share something personal about his past life, but it still left him wondering why he was not with his family and herd. Whatever questioning thoughts he had, they all faded into the darkness of sleep, with Whiplash curling even tighter around him as though he was using his body as a barrier to keep the bad sleep stories away… as well as his memories.