spilled tea releases steam into the air. “Pardon me,” the yellow one apologizes then lifts up the cup and holds it closer to its friend.
The orange one reaches out blindly and searches the table until it finds the plate of sugar cubes. It tries to drop a cube in the other’s cup, but the cube hits the lip, falls off the side and rolls off the table. Neither creature notices.
“Thank you.” The yellow one sips from the cup. “That sugar cube is just what the tea needed.” It sips again. “Though I might need one more.”
“You’re so welcome. Now where is that cake?” The orange one fumbles with its fork, but can’t find anything.
Allan feels like laughing because he can’t believe his eyes or his ears.
The orange salamander-person finds the cake and crams a bite into its mouth. “Have you heard the bad news?”
“Oh my, what now? Has the Testing gone terribly wrong again? Has someone passed on?”
“No, but there were sightings of Jibbawk this week. Three times. It leaves ‘X’ scratch marks on the trees. The ‘X’ marks bleed. Oh, I shiver to think of it. They say it’s hungry and looking to kill.”
“Who will it kill? It’s picky you know.”
“How should I know? Maybe one of us. It might be hunting in this very forest.”
Rubic had said something about Jibbawk, but Allan had thought it was just a scary story. If these salamander-people are real, then maybe Jibbawk is real too. Allan makes a noise that sounds like a peep. The salamander-people look in his direction. Though they cannot see, they know he is there.
“Who’s there?” The orange one cries, its eyes open wide. “You are trying to scare me, aren’t you?”
“I did not make that noise, and I am scared, too. Roggy will protect us.”
“We have cake.” the orange one says, looking back and forth, as blind as a rock.
From the fog Allan sees a head pop up. It is a furry, shaggy head with large floppy ears. It has a dog snout with large jowls and thick sharp teeth. It growls then leaps and gallops toward Allan. It slides in the moss and stops just inches from Allan’s face. Another peep comes from his mouth as fear hits him over the head with the force of a sledgehammer. The dog speaks. “What is this? A human boy?”
“Oh my! How did a boy get out here?” asks the orange one. “We vacation out here to avoid the riffraff.”
The yellow one slaps its head. “Oh, thank the DoGo it wasn’t Jibbawk.” Holding its three-fingered hands out so as to ensure it doesn’t run into any obstacles, it stands and stumbles toward the growling dog.
“Mr. Killian will want to test him.” The orange one remains seated. “Whether or not he survives.”
Roggy leans so close that Allan can smell its rancid, dead-squirrel breath.
“Help me,” Allan says. He hears his voice. He spoke! The vibration warms his throat and sends a tingling sensation into his brain. His voice isn’t broken. Rubic was right. “P-please help. My uncle is hurt.”
“Zip it boy,” Roggy growls. His deep voice gurgles. “It is illegal to speak until you get Tested. If you don’t come with us we’ll take you by force. Everyone gets Tested.”
A cold rain begins to drizzle.
Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, a dark metal object crashes through the canopy of trees and slams into the trunk of a tree. A rope, frayed and oily, is attached to the metal anchor that is securely imbedded in the tree trunk. Someone crashes through the canopy, zipping down the rope. The person hangs on to bicycle handles that stick out of the sides of a copper box. The box has wheels in front and back that pinch the rope.
The person is a girl. Her short leather boots crunch the dried leaves when she lands on the ground. Her hair is brown and tied in a ponytail. She has a narrow face and big golden eyes. She wears a faded, blue tank top, shorts and a pack held by a single strap crossing her chest. Water cascades off her body like she emerged from a car
The orange one reaches out blindly and searches the table until it finds the plate of sugar cubes. It tries to drop a cube in the other’s cup, but the cube hits the lip, falls off the side and rolls off the table. Neither creature notices.
“Thank you.” The yellow one sips from the cup. “That sugar cube is just what the tea needed.” It sips again. “Though I might need one more.”
“You’re so welcome. Now where is that cake?” The orange one fumbles with its fork, but can’t find anything.
Allan feels like laughing because he can’t believe his eyes or his ears.
The orange salamander-person finds the cake and crams a bite into its mouth. “Have you heard the bad news?”
“Oh my, what now? Has the Testing gone terribly wrong again? Has someone passed on?”
“No, but there were sightings of Jibbawk this week. Three times. It leaves ‘X’ scratch marks on the trees. The ‘X’ marks bleed. Oh, I shiver to think of it. They say it’s hungry and looking to kill.”
“Who will it kill? It’s picky you know.”
“How should I know? Maybe one of us. It might be hunting in this very forest.”
Rubic had said something about Jibbawk, but Allan had thought it was just a scary story. If these salamander-people are real, then maybe Jibbawk is real too. Allan makes a noise that sounds like a peep. The salamander-people look in his direction. Though they cannot see, they know he is there.
“Who’s there?” The orange one cries, its eyes open wide. “You are trying to scare me, aren’t you?”
“I did not make that noise, and I am scared, too. Roggy will protect us.”
“We have cake.” the orange one says, looking back and forth, as blind as a rock.
From the fog Allan sees a head pop up. It is a furry, shaggy head with large floppy ears. It has a dog snout with large jowls and thick sharp teeth. It growls then leaps and gallops toward Allan. It slides in the moss and stops just inches from Allan’s face. Another peep comes from his mouth as fear hits him over the head with the force of a sledgehammer. The dog speaks. “What is this? A human boy?”
“Oh my! How did a boy get out here?” asks the orange one. “We vacation out here to avoid the riffraff.”
The yellow one slaps its head. “Oh, thank the DoGo it wasn’t Jibbawk.” Holding its three-fingered hands out so as to ensure it doesn’t run into any obstacles, it stands and stumbles toward the growling dog.
“Mr. Killian will want to test him.” The orange one remains seated. “Whether or not he survives.”
Roggy leans so close that Allan can smell its rancid, dead-squirrel breath.
“Help me,” Allan says. He hears his voice. He spoke! The vibration warms his throat and sends a tingling sensation into his brain. His voice isn’t broken. Rubic was right. “P-please help. My uncle is hurt.”
“Zip it boy,” Roggy growls. His deep voice gurgles. “It is illegal to speak until you get Tested. If you don’t come with us we’ll take you by force. Everyone gets Tested.”
A cold rain begins to drizzle.
Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, a dark metal object crashes through the canopy of trees and slams into the trunk of a tree. A rope, frayed and oily, is attached to the metal anchor that is securely imbedded in the tree trunk. Someone crashes through the canopy, zipping down the rope. The person hangs on to bicycle handles that stick out of the sides of a copper box. The box has wheels in front and back that pinch the rope.
The person is a girl. Her short leather boots crunch the dried leaves when she lands on the ground. Her hair is brown and tied in a ponytail. She has a narrow face and big golden eyes. She wears a faded, blue tank top, shorts and a pack held by a single strap crossing her chest. Water cascades off her body like she emerged from a car
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