he knew that its empty branches couldn't protect him. Yet none of that worried him—for none of that was part of his plan. He had other things to worry about, such as when to make his next move.
Just as the treacherous beak opened again to bite off his tail, Basil suddenly spun around in midair. Face-to-face with the enormous bird who was hurtling toward him, he then did what his foe least expected.
Basil charged.
With a high-pitched shriek of his own, the little batlike creature flew right into his enemy's face. Caught completely off guard, the dactylbird squawked in surprise. Unable to slow down, he smashed into Basil, whose tiny tail whipped hard and struck his eye.
Squealing in pain, the dactylbird lashed out with his talons. But Basil glided just out of reach. Even as the predator's momentum carried him onward, he turned back to glare with his one good eye at Basil, who hovered in the air, smirking confidently. Anger boiled through the dactylbird's body, vibrating every feather, as he—
Slammed full force into the dead tree.
A sharp, spiky branch pierced his chest, spearing him through the heart. Blood—for the very first time, his own—seeped into his feathers. Another branch tore into his wing, ripping through muscle and bone, scattering brown feathers that drifted lazily down into the forest below.
With a last gurgling squawk, the much-feared dactylbird hung there, swaying in the branches like a torn, dead leaf. A talon lifted for the last time, raked the air, then fell limp. The eyes' inner fire went dark.
And so those eyes never saw a small, batlike creature fly slowly around the tree, inspecting the carcass, to make absolutely sure that the killer bird was dead. At last, convinced that the skies were truly a bit safer now, Basil drew a deep, satisfied breath. In that moment, he felt something he'd never felt before, something he'd never fully believed could happen to him.
He felt big. For a precious few seconds, he savored the sensation: Somehow, he seemed much bigger than his body.
Then he heard a distant rumble. It swelled, pounding rhythmically, until it filled the air like explosive bursts of thunder. But where did it come from? Basil turned in the air, hovering above the dead tree, as he scanned the sky. Yet, apart from a few wispy clouds, he saw nothing.
The pounding grew louder. Basil's cupped ears trembled with every repeated boom, boom, boom . At the same time, vibrations rippled through the spruce forest, so strong that they shook loose twigs and needles and clumps of moss. Soon the whole forest began to quake. Broken branches snapped off and crashed to the ground. Beneath Basil, the dead tree started to sway to the rhythm, waving the dead dactylbird like a tattered flag.
All at once, he understood. The thunderous pounding wasn't coming from the sky, but from the land. He opened his green eyes to their widest, surveying the horizon. There! Far to the west, shrouded in mist, he glimpsed a hulking shape.
Towering above the tops of trees, the shape drew closer. A giant! Bigger than a hillside , that gossiping crow had said. Rightly so!
Basil, captivated by the sight, had to force himself to remember to keep flapping his wings. The huge figure strode from the western side of Woodroot, each of his footsteps slamming into the ground with the force of a landslide.
As he watched, beating his crumpled wings, Basil swallowed. And I thought I was big?
The giant strode heavily, step by pounding step. Something immense lay across his gargantuan shoulders: a stone pillar, large enough to fill a small lake. As the giant stomped closer to the spruce forest, his profile revealed a huge, bulbous nose and a shaggy mane of unruly hair.
Between the rhythmic strides, a deep voice rumbled. Cocking his ears toward the giant, Basil caught part of a song, borne on the spruce-scented breeze:
Well, pinch me nose, I don't suppose
I am a flapsy bird:
Me songly croon's so out o' tune
Like none you've ever heard!
I
Just as the treacherous beak opened again to bite off his tail, Basil suddenly spun around in midair. Face-to-face with the enormous bird who was hurtling toward him, he then did what his foe least expected.
Basil charged.
With a high-pitched shriek of his own, the little batlike creature flew right into his enemy's face. Caught completely off guard, the dactylbird squawked in surprise. Unable to slow down, he smashed into Basil, whose tiny tail whipped hard and struck his eye.
Squealing in pain, the dactylbird lashed out with his talons. But Basil glided just out of reach. Even as the predator's momentum carried him onward, he turned back to glare with his one good eye at Basil, who hovered in the air, smirking confidently. Anger boiled through the dactylbird's body, vibrating every feather, as he—
Slammed full force into the dead tree.
A sharp, spiky branch pierced his chest, spearing him through the heart. Blood—for the very first time, his own—seeped into his feathers. Another branch tore into his wing, ripping through muscle and bone, scattering brown feathers that drifted lazily down into the forest below.
With a last gurgling squawk, the much-feared dactylbird hung there, swaying in the branches like a torn, dead leaf. A talon lifted for the last time, raked the air, then fell limp. The eyes' inner fire went dark.
And so those eyes never saw a small, batlike creature fly slowly around the tree, inspecting the carcass, to make absolutely sure that the killer bird was dead. At last, convinced that the skies were truly a bit safer now, Basil drew a deep, satisfied breath. In that moment, he felt something he'd never felt before, something he'd never fully believed could happen to him.
He felt big. For a precious few seconds, he savored the sensation: Somehow, he seemed much bigger than his body.
Then he heard a distant rumble. It swelled, pounding rhythmically, until it filled the air like explosive bursts of thunder. But where did it come from? Basil turned in the air, hovering above the dead tree, as he scanned the sky. Yet, apart from a few wispy clouds, he saw nothing.
The pounding grew louder. Basil's cupped ears trembled with every repeated boom, boom, boom . At the same time, vibrations rippled through the spruce forest, so strong that they shook loose twigs and needles and clumps of moss. Soon the whole forest began to quake. Broken branches snapped off and crashed to the ground. Beneath Basil, the dead tree started to sway to the rhythm, waving the dead dactylbird like a tattered flag.
All at once, he understood. The thunderous pounding wasn't coming from the sky, but from the land. He opened his green eyes to their widest, surveying the horizon. There! Far to the west, shrouded in mist, he glimpsed a hulking shape.
Towering above the tops of trees, the shape drew closer. A giant! Bigger than a hillside , that gossiping crow had said. Rightly so!
Basil, captivated by the sight, had to force himself to remember to keep flapping his wings. The huge figure strode from the western side of Woodroot, each of his footsteps slamming into the ground with the force of a landslide.
As he watched, beating his crumpled wings, Basil swallowed. And I thought I was big?
The giant strode heavily, step by pounding step. Something immense lay across his gargantuan shoulders: a stone pillar, large enough to fill a small lake. As the giant stomped closer to the spruce forest, his profile revealed a huge, bulbous nose and a shaggy mane of unruly hair.
Between the rhythmic strides, a deep voice rumbled. Cocking his ears toward the giant, Basil caught part of a song, borne on the spruce-scented breeze:
Well, pinch me nose, I don't suppose
I am a flapsy bird:
Me songly croon's so out o' tune
Like none you've ever heard!
I
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