await him if he returned? And why had the dream come to Basil?
All those questions rattled Basil's brain. They rose out of the darkness and pounced on him, much as that bat-winged creature had pounced on Merlin. Then they receded, unanswered, only to attack again.
He ground his teeth anxiously. For there was one more question, more frightening than all the rest, that wouldn't leave him alone. Hard as he tried, he couldn't banish it—just as he couldn't answer it. Was that perilous creature something out there in the wild, something Basil might have to face in the future? Or was it really . . . Basil himself ?
He stared into the blackness, wondering. Just then, from the edge of his vision, he caught sight of a shadowy shape—long and flexible, slithering toward him on the branch. A snake! This time what he saw was no dream. That snake was real—as real as the deadly glint in its eyes.
Basil stiffened. What could he do? Where could he go? The snake, nearly as large around as the branch, blocked his way back to the trunk. Sensing his awareness, the serpent sped up, gliding quickly, mouth already starting to open. Starlight gleamed on a pair of curved fangs. In just seconds, Basil knew, those fangs would reach him.
The snake slid nearer. And nearer. Basil watched in horror, his entire body frozen except for his wildly galloping heart. A loud hiss echoed in the night—and the snake struck, biting hard.
But the serpent's jaws closed on empty air. For Basil, at the very last instant, did the unimaginable: He jumped off the branch—
And he flew. Thrust open by the sudden rush of air, his wings spread. They widened, supporting his falling body. Newly stiffened by the growth of bones and sinews—which had swelled so painfully while he'd slept—the wings showed at last what they could do.
Flying! , thought Basil, amazed to feel himself riding the air, which rushed past his snout and fluttered his ears. Slowly, he drifted downward, skirting the edge of a cedar bough, then sailing so close to a young squirrel he could have licked the animal's soft whiskers. He felt free—even graceful.
Which is not to say he knew how to steer—let alone land. Stunned by the double shock of escaping the snake and now flying, he couldn't begin to focus on anything beyond this new experience. But what did that matter? He was, after all, airborne at last.
Slam! He crashed into a tangle of mistletoe clinging to a branch, tumbled helplessly downward, and fell with a flourish of needles through a dense stand of saplings. Down he plunged, smacking every twig it seemed, until he landed in a mass of cabbage leaves. Tearing through the leaves, he finally hit the ground with a thud—hard enough to daze him momentarily, but gentle enough to spare any bones from breaking.
I . . . flew , he thought, as his eyes regained their ability to focus. I really flew.
Just to make sure, he crawled out from under the canopy of torn cabbage leaves . . . and spread his wings as wide as he could. He gazed at them, so full and sturdy, their leathery skin shining in the scattered light from the stars. He waved them back and forth, feeling the rush of air against his face—a sensation he'd never known before. And then he noticed something that doused the flame of his delight.
The wings, jagged and bony, looked all too familiar. They resembled those of a bat—or those of a creature he'd once seen in a dream.
8: A R ASH I DEA
Size is more elusive than I ever guessed. It's less something you see, more something you feel. The same person can feel as huge and enduring as a mountain, or as small and transient as a breath.
Y EAR OF A VALON 7
Whoosh.
Just above Basil's head, an enormous wing slashed through the air. If the wing had been even a hair lower, it would have hit him with the force of a hurled stone, knocking him right out of the sky. As it was, the sudden rush of wind blew him completely onto his back, so that he plunged helplessly downward.
He knew,
All those questions rattled Basil's brain. They rose out of the darkness and pounced on him, much as that bat-winged creature had pounced on Merlin. Then they receded, unanswered, only to attack again.
He ground his teeth anxiously. For there was one more question, more frightening than all the rest, that wouldn't leave him alone. Hard as he tried, he couldn't banish it—just as he couldn't answer it. Was that perilous creature something out there in the wild, something Basil might have to face in the future? Or was it really . . . Basil himself ?
He stared into the blackness, wondering. Just then, from the edge of his vision, he caught sight of a shadowy shape—long and flexible, slithering toward him on the branch. A snake! This time what he saw was no dream. That snake was real—as real as the deadly glint in its eyes.
Basil stiffened. What could he do? Where could he go? The snake, nearly as large around as the branch, blocked his way back to the trunk. Sensing his awareness, the serpent sped up, gliding quickly, mouth already starting to open. Starlight gleamed on a pair of curved fangs. In just seconds, Basil knew, those fangs would reach him.
The snake slid nearer. And nearer. Basil watched in horror, his entire body frozen except for his wildly galloping heart. A loud hiss echoed in the night—and the snake struck, biting hard.
But the serpent's jaws closed on empty air. For Basil, at the very last instant, did the unimaginable: He jumped off the branch—
And he flew. Thrust open by the sudden rush of air, his wings spread. They widened, supporting his falling body. Newly stiffened by the growth of bones and sinews—which had swelled so painfully while he'd slept—the wings showed at last what they could do.
Flying! , thought Basil, amazed to feel himself riding the air, which rushed past his snout and fluttered his ears. Slowly, he drifted downward, skirting the edge of a cedar bough, then sailing so close to a young squirrel he could have licked the animal's soft whiskers. He felt free—even graceful.
Which is not to say he knew how to steer—let alone land. Stunned by the double shock of escaping the snake and now flying, he couldn't begin to focus on anything beyond this new experience. But what did that matter? He was, after all, airborne at last.
Slam! He crashed into a tangle of mistletoe clinging to a branch, tumbled helplessly downward, and fell with a flourish of needles through a dense stand of saplings. Down he plunged, smacking every twig it seemed, until he landed in a mass of cabbage leaves. Tearing through the leaves, he finally hit the ground with a thud—hard enough to daze him momentarily, but gentle enough to spare any bones from breaking.
I . . . flew , he thought, as his eyes regained their ability to focus. I really flew.
Just to make sure, he crawled out from under the canopy of torn cabbage leaves . . . and spread his wings as wide as he could. He gazed at them, so full and sturdy, their leathery skin shining in the scattered light from the stars. He waved them back and forth, feeling the rush of air against his face—a sensation he'd never known before. And then he noticed something that doused the flame of his delight.
The wings, jagged and bony, looked all too familiar. They resembled those of a bat—or those of a creature he'd once seen in a dream.
8: A R ASH I DEA
Size is more elusive than I ever guessed. It's less something you see, more something you feel. The same person can feel as huge and enduring as a mountain, or as small and transient as a breath.
Y EAR OF A VALON 7
Whoosh.
Just above Basil's head, an enormous wing slashed through the air. If the wing had been even a hair lower, it would have hit him with the force of a hurled stone, knocking him right out of the sky. As it was, the sudden rush of wind blew him completely onto his back, so that he plunged helplessly downward.
He knew,
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