“This net is going to be huge!” yelped Bismark. “Massive! Giant! Humongous!” Bismark was excited. But, suddenly, his eagerness turned into panic when he realized the enormous job that they faced. “Ay, ay, ay! We need help!” he cried, and he toppled off of his rock.
“Yes,” said the fox. “Let’s gather the animals of the valley. We need as many workers and as many vines as possible.”
“Get help?” Polyphema tightened her claws. “I told you—the beast wants the area clear! You can’t bring more animals here! It’s too dangerous. We must do this ourselves.”
“Well, si, I could do all the heavy lifting myself, of course.” Bismark puffed out his chest and flexed both his arms.
“I don’t understand,” murmured Dawn. “If this beast is as dangerous as you say…”
“… then we need to move fast!” finished Tobin.
The tuatara’s eyes flashed with fear. “But—”
“My amigos are right,” Bismark said, cutting off Polyphema. “We need as many helpers as possible. Plus—” Bismark mischievously stroked his chin, “—I do enjoy bossing around those jerboas….”
“The jerboas? Those little brown rodents?” Polyphema paused, lost in thought. Then, with a glance at the mountain, she nodded. “Well, I suppose they’d be fine….”
Dawn furrowed her brow, confused by the reptile’s sudden change of heart. But there was no time to question things—they had to move quickly. “Bismark, Tobin, you must leave now. Bring help as fast as you can.”
Tobin glanced at the fox. “Wait a moment,” he started, his brow creased with concern. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with us?”
“No,” replied Dawn. “I will stay here and instruct the animals as they arrive.”
The fox smiled sincerely at Tobin, then slyly at Polyphema. “Besides, with this giant beast on the loose, no one should be alone.”
“Come along, comrade!” cried Bismark, giving Tobin a pat on the back. “With my brain, my brawn, and your, well, sturdy scales, we have nothing to fear—nada! Though it does pain me to leave these loveliest of lovelies, I must admit.” He gazed at Polyphema and Dawn and let out a sigh.
“Come on, Bismark,” urged Tobin, nudging his friend with his snout.
“Right, right. Off we go.” As he trudged away, Bismark glanced longingly over his shoulder. “Toodleloo, Tutu! Au revoir, Dawn, mon amour! Fare thee well, my sweet bellas!”
As Bismark and Tobin’s shadows disappeared in the distance, Dawn and Polyphema stood in tense silence. They squinted at each other, neither blinking despite the wind and the ash that swirled around them.
“I’m going to go get some rest,” said Polyphema. “It’s been quite the evening.”
Dawn gazed up. The sky was stained black and the moon hung at its peak. “Aren’t you a nocturnal?” she asked, puzzled.
The tuatara nodded. “Yes.” Her voice slightly cracked. “I’ve just…well…I’ve been quite tired.”
“Better get some rest, then,” said Dawn.
Was Polyphema lying? Something about her excuse seemed false, but the fox did not let her doubt show. “I’ll be collecting things we might need for the net,” she said smoothly.
The animals spun on their heels and walked in opposite directions through the scorched plants and trees.
But not for long. Glancing over her shoulder, the fox waited for Polyphema’s form to fade. Then, she switched her course and stalked the strange tuatara through the darkness.
Careful to keep plenty of distance between them, Dawn followed the reptile’s tracks, tracing the snaking line of her tail in the ash. Soon enough, she found herself at the edge of the mountain. The fox slowed to a crawl. The rocky peak blocked the moon, and the night felt heavy and dark.
Dawn circled the mountain until she reached its opposite side. Then, suddenly, she stopped. Polyphema’s tracks had led her to a wall made of large rocks. It was the strange structure they’d seen earlier from the mountaintop! The fox looked every which way, hoping to spot the reptile, or at least to pick up her tail line in the ash. But she was nowhere in sight, and the track ended here. Dawn furrowed her brow—there was only one possibility.
Crouching low in the shadows, the fox lifted her head to gaze up.
There she was—Polyphema—climbing the fortress’s wall. The tuatara moved quickly and confidently, gripping the rocks with her claws, ascending the slope with ease. Step after step, stone after stone, she climbed higher, until finally she reached the top. For a moment, she paused. Her scales flickered under the moon and she drew in a breath. Then, in a quick flash of silver, she ducked into the tower, her tail vanishing below the stone rim.
Dawn stepped out from the shadows. What was the tuatara doing here? What was inside that stone fort?
She raised a paw to the rock, ready to make the climb, but then her paw slipped on the shaky surface, and the stone tumbled down to the ground. Dawn froze. She could hear rustling inside the fortress. Had Polyphema heard her outside? Nervously, the fox waited for any sign she’d been caught. But after several moments of silence, she relaxed and took a small step back.
Perplexed, Dawn gazed at the stone wall. She was nimble—able to climb almost anything. But this fortress was steep and unstable. How did the tired, old tuatara scale the wall with such ease? It didn’t make sense…unless the trek was routine—something Polyphema did all the time.
The fox circled the structure. There had to be some sort of entrance—an opening that she could squeeze through—but the stones were stacked tightly with little to no room between. She sighed, discouraged. But then she heard something—a mumbling of sorts. Her heart leaped in her chest.
Dawn pressed an ear to the wall. There it was again! Mumbling… a voice…
Polyphema wasn’t alone.
The tuatara was definitely speaking to someone.
But who?