Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere)
Page 23
Pol stared up at the sky. There were three large Rocs flying around in a wide circle, as if they were trying to decide how best to attack. One of the beasts swooped down towards the fleeing beings but was too late to catch them before they reached the safety of the trees. Boy, could they run fast!
“Aw, shit,” said Pol as he reached behind him and grabbed hold of a bow and a pouch of arrows. He then shuffled sideways, to his right, so he was standing beside the group of spears, which were leaning next to the entrance to the cave. He calmly made a suitable stance and fitted one of the arrows to the bow. Made ready to fight off the Rocs.
Tinker had also seen the threat and was making a deep, rumbling growl in the back of his throat whilst standing at the ready.
“‘Grrrrrr.’”
“They haven’t got a chance against us,” muttered Pol unconvincingly. “What do you think, boy?”
Tinker did not reply. He carried on watching the birds as they continued to circle overhead. He remembered the Roc, which had attacked the Pol-creature—how the bird had quickly succumbed when he had sunk his teeth into its neck. Forgot about the spear the Pol-creature had already thrown at the bird.
“‘Grrrrrr,’” he rumbled. “‘Grrrrrr.’”
He dared the birds to come within striking distance.
“‘Grrrrrr.’”
To Pol, the birds posed no threat just then. They were well out of range of his arrow. He stayed at the ready and waited for them to make a move. He was mildly surprised to find his heart was beating normally, no mad palpitations. Only small beads of sweat stood out on his brow. For once in this awful place, he was not afraid.
“Looks like they’re not too sure about us, Tinker. What do you think? Scared of us, eh?”
Tinker licked his lips and started to pant. Standing out in the sunshine was beginning to take its toll on the dog.
Pol risked a quick glance towards the forest, could make out a few of the braver males watching from the safety of the trees, and made a sly, satisfied grin.
‘This could work out in our favor, if it works out right, of course.’
The thought boosted his courage and helped him to ignore the burning rays of the suns.
Up in the sky, the three birds, in perfect formation, had come down a bit lower, and were now almost within shooting distance.
“Just a little bit lower,” whispered Pol.
“‘Grrr, grrr, grrr. Grrrrrr,’” said Tinker.
Pol decided to play it cool and steadied himself by leaning his backside against a large boulder with the bow and arrow held easily in his hands. He decided he ought to have plenty of warning when the birds finally decided to attack. It would take them more than a few seconds to reach him, plenty of time for him to raise his bow and shoot at the leading bird.
‘Hope all the practice was worth it. Shame if I miss. Poor Tinker and I will end up as no more than a couple of blood stains on the rocks, perhaps an odd couple of entrails lying on the ground here and there.’
He smiled ruefully at the picture, which formed, in his mind.
“‘Caaawww,’” shouted one of the birds.
“‘Caaawww, Caaawww,’” replied the other two beasts in unison.
“‘Bark!’” shouted Tinker.
“Come on, then, you buggers,” cried Pol, with a newfound bravado. “We’re ready for you.”
Without further warning, as if in answer to Pol’s goading, the lead Roc swerved in mid air, made a sideways twist, and entered a steep dive; headed straight towards Pol.
Pol swiftly lifted his bow, drew the arrow back, took aim, and released the bowstring at what he thought was the right moment.
To Pol’s amazement, the arrow flew true, entered the beast’s single eye, and plunged deep into the bird’s unprotected brain.
The arrow must have hit something vitally important in its brain because the bird immediately turned a clumsy somersault and plunged vertically downwards; was dead before it hit the ground.
The remaining Rocs rapidly veered away and circled upwards out of range.
Tinker was off like a rocket and headed straight for the already dead beast. He dived at its throat and gleefully sank his teeth into the soft flesh.
“‘Grrr. Grrr. Grrr,’” he growled as he gleefully ripped a sizeable chunk from the Roc’s throat. He had gotten the hang of this killing thing—grab the suckers by the throat and rip it out.
Pol had already reloaded his bow and was ready when the second Roc started to dive down towards him. Before Pol could gauge the distance between him and the bird, the bird veered off again and swiftly gained height as if it had suddenly realized Pol was aiming to kill it the same way he had already killed its leader.
Meanwhile,
The dead Roc was having its throat ripped to pieces by a very angry small, black four-legged creature.
“‘Caaawww!’” shouted the second Roc as it flew skywards. It headed towards the third bird which was still circling high overhead.
As if by some telepathic means, the two remaining Rocs appeared to agree it might be a good idea to beat a hasty retreat because they turned in unison towards the range of distant peaks beyond the forest. They quickly disappeared from view.
Pol lowered his bow and turned his head towards the dead bird. Tinker was sitting near its head, his bloody tongue hanging from his bloody mouth, panting, with a happy look on his bloody face.
“Good boy,” said Pol, more to himself. “Good boy.”
No palpitations, no gasping for breath, and no rivers of sweat running down his body.
Two Rocs and four wolves down. Not to mention the fishes he had caught, but they were just for food.
“Good boy.”
He leaned back against the rock and heaved a contented sigh.
The sound of cheers and laughter reached Pol’s ears and he peered through slitted eyelids towards the crowd of hairy bodies running up the hill towards him.
‘Yeah,’ he thought with a grin. ‘Come on back now the beast is dead. Very brave, I’m sure.’
When the lead runners reached the place where Tinker was standing by the dead Roc’s body, the dog turned and happily joined in with them. Raced them back to where Pol was standing obviously understanding they meant them no harm.
Everyone wanted to congratulate Pol at the same time, each of them trying to get close to him, and many managed to pat him on his shoulders.
“Ok. Ok,” said Pol with a grin. “Take it easy, guys.”
When the hubbub died down, the leader of the beings stood in front of Pol and pointed at Pol’s bow and arrows with a puzzled look on his face.
He grunted something unintelligible, but this did not faze Pol.
“Yeah I know,” he said. “Nothing much to look at but it gets the job done.”
The large male held out a hand. He was obviously asking for the bow.
Pol shrugged his shoulders and thought, ‘Why not?’
“Ok,” he agreed and handed the bow and arrow to the male. “I’ve got another one inside the cave and it won’t take me too long to make some more.”
He smiled as the hairy man closely examined the bow.
Pol handed him an arrow and proceeded to show him how to use it.
When the male released the arrow, it made a forwards summersault and fell to the ground, a little more than three feet in front of the hairy male.
The crowd of hairy beings burst out laughing and poked fun at their perplexed leader. Even the wizened old crow sported a toothless grin.
Pol looked at the young girl, who was standing to one side of the main group. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the way she was smiling at him, all wide-eyes and teeth.
Now it looked as if he and Tinker were in their good books, Pol had the beginnings of an idea.
‘If I make a few more bows and arrows and teach these guys how to use them it’s bound to gain me a few smarty points.’
Or, so he hoped.
He grinned broadly at the young girl. She s
miled back at him.
Now,
For once in his life, things were beginning to look up…
End
Thank you for selecting this book. I hope you have enjoyed it and will be kind enough to leave a review. Your thoughts will be most appreciated.
Robert, author/...
Other books by Robert William Saul Harvey:
Windmills in the Mist
Windmills in the Dark (The sequel to Windmills in the Mist)
Mindfall
Erica
Seph
Lobbs Bottom easy mysteries with kids in 1955:
Rhona’s Bike
Beryl’s Pup
Ann’s Curse
Again, many thanks.
Robert, Author