Panda Panic by Jamie Rix Page B

widen it.
    â€œI’ll never fit in there,” said Ping. “And anyway, I’ve already told you I hate bugs. I only like eating bamboo. Back at home, that’s all I do, apart from sleeping and taking a poo forty-seven times a day.”
    â€œAll you do?!” said Little Bear. “What about being the Emperor’s bodyguard?”
    Ping couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if Little Bear was starting to question his story.
    â€œThere’s that too,” he said quietly. “I’m just going to grab myself something to eat. I’ll be back in a minute. Are you OK?”
    â€œDon’t worry about me,” said Little Bear. “I’ll be fine.”

    Ping picked himself a fresh bamboo cane, slumped down against a tree stump, and tore off the leaves with his teeth. He was angry with himself for being so weak. He had told a big lie once before, when he’d informed the international pandas who visited Wolagong that he was a skirt-wearing, plate-spinning, bamboo-cooking, classical bagpipe-playing Winter Olympian, who also happened to be a part-time dragon-fighter. Admitting to this lie had been so embarrassing that he’d sworn never to tell another lie again. And now look what he’d done—he told Little Bear that he was the Emperor’s bodyguard, a fearless fighter who wrestled bandits, and single-handedly defeated China’s enemies! Only bad things could come of Ping’s stupidity. When Little Bear found out the truth, he’d think that Ping was ordinary and boring, and wouldn’t want anything more to do with him. It was time for Ping to face up to a few hard facts—he could no more be a hero than he could fly.
    Suddenly he heard a cry from the spot where he’d left Little Bear.
    â€œPING!!!! HELP!!!!”
    There was a terror in the voice that tore at Ping’s heart. He sprang up onto all fours as if struck by a bolt of lightning and, dropping his stick of bamboo, sprinted to Little Bear’s rescue. But as he brushed aside the branches and crept into the clearing, he saw a sight that made his blood run cold. Digging out the entrance to the bolt hole, inside of which Little Bear had taken refuge, was a snow leopard! Not a shadow of a snow leopard. A real snow leopard, with real claws and teeth. It was knocking out clumps of earth and making the hole bigger with each swipe of its paw. It would not be long before it reached Little Bear, and when it did—Ping could not bear to think of losing his friend. But what could he do? A giant panda’s instinct when confronted by a snow leopard is to panic. Ping was no exception.
    â€œFlipping flipflops!” he screamed under his breath. “What’s the plan, Ping?” He didn’t have an answer. His mind had frozen.
    â€œPiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” came the muffled cry from down in the hole. “Save me!”
    Come on, Ping! This isn’t a game. Snap out of it! What would his mother do in these circumstances, he wondered? She’d attack. She’d protect her children. She’d rush in without a thought for her own safety. Ping wanted to do the same, but his head was full of thoughts for his own safety—hundreds of them, in fact. And it was these thoughts that were stopping him from jumping in and saving his friend. His heart was telling him to fight, but his head was telling him he couldn’t win.
    STOP PANICKING, PING!!!!
    Ping grabbed hold of his head and held it still. If Little Bear was to stand a chance of being saved, Ping had to take a deep breath, suck the sense back into his head, and think.
    He didn’t know what made him look down at the ground, but he did. And when he saw the long shadows that were being cast by the trees and recalled his own saying that a wise bear fights with his brain as well as his body , it was but a short leap to a brilliant plan. Why he hadn’t thought of it before was a mystery to