“Oh, thank goodness they’re here,” said the pangolin. He lumbered over a log toward the group of jerboas and birds. They were clustered together, a sea of feathers and fur beneath the wide canopy of an ancient tree. Even though the worst was over, they still shook and shuddered in fear. “Is everyone all right?” Tobin asked.
At the sight of the Brigade, the animals seemed to let out one big sigh. But their relief was short-lived. Almost immediately, they began to panic.
“The beast! The beast!” the jerboas exclaimed.
“Is he there?”
“Is he gone?”
“Did you see him?”
“Did he follow you?”
Dawn cleared her throat, hushing the anxious crowd. “We did not see the beast,” she began. “Let’s all remain calm. Remember, the most important thing is everyone’s safety. No one was badly hurt, correct?”
The animals murmured and nodded in agreement. With the exception of a few scratches and bruises—and a few minor burns on the birds—they had escaped from the chaos unharmed.
“Good,” said Dawn. With the crowd having quieted some, her voice was steadier—more commanding. “Now, are all creatures here?”
“Yes.” The jerboas squeaked, the kiwis chirped, the falcons nodded, and the hawks squawked, confirming that their groups were complete. But the owls continued to rotate their heads, unsettled.
Tobin looked at them with concern. “Is someone missing?” he asked. The pangolin started to pad toward the flock, but Bismark yanked his friend back by the tail. “Bah,” he scoffed. “They’re all here. Those owls just can’t keep their heads screwed on straight. The only thing missing here is the fur on my better half!” The sugar glider spun around, presenting his bare rear end to his friend.
But despite Bismark’s antics, Tobin’s attention remained fixed on the owls. The round, puffy birds were still looking around wildly, swiveling their heads and nervously hooting among themselves.
“It’s Otto!” the pangolin gasped. “I don’t see him—he’s missing!”
“You’re right,” said the fox, drawing a breath. “We need to find him right away.”
“Fret not, mes amies.” Bismark waved a flap in dismissal. “Have you forgotten how Otto flew? That cockeyed owl has probably zigzagged himself to the northern brambles by now!”
“Otto is a little unpredictable, so perhaps you’re right,” reasoned Dawn, “but we need to track him down to be sure.” She spoke to the crowd. “Our best bet is to return to the crater—that’s where we saw him last. Let’s go.” The fox started to leave.
“But the beast!” cried a kiwi. “What about the beast?”
“Yes,” agreed a falcon, flapping his way toward the fox. “We can’t fly until that beast is gone!”
“And now our net is torn,” lamented a hawk.
The fox stopped and turned back. “We’ll take care of the beast,” she said. “We’ll study the net’s damage and repair it as best we can. Everyone will be safe,” she said, hoping that she could keep her promise.
Reassured by their leader, the animals followed Dawn back toward the crater. The jerboas skittered through the thick ash and the birds half-flapped, half-walked their way behind the rest. Most were still afraid to fly and anger the beast.
“When will my bum’s handsome hairs reemerge?” Bismark moaned. The sugar glider was walking backward to hide his burnt rear from Dawn. “I cannot bear such a furless existence. What will I do? How will I sleep on those long, chilly days? My tuckus will freeze!” The sugar glider raised a woeful flap to his forehead.
The crowd let out a loud gasp.
“Tragic, oui. I know,” said the sugar glider.
“No, Bismark. Look!” Dawn pointed to a pool of dark, red blood on the ground. Scattered here and there were damp, matted brown feathers.
“No!” cried Tobin. He rushed over and picked one up with his claw. Fighting back tears, he inspected it, hoping his conclusion was wrong. The pangolin’s shoulders slumped; the feather’s owner was clear: “Otto.”
“You’re sure?” asked Dawn. “It’s his?”
Tobin nodded.
“He was attacked!” called a hawk.
“Kidnapped!” squawked a falcon.
“Maybe worse…” cried an owl.
The birds shouted and trembled, shaken by anger and fear.
Suddenly, a low, flat voice interrupted the chaos. “I see the beast has left his mark again.”
Polyphema emerged from the mountain’s long shadow. Her golden irises seemed to shine even through the curtains of dust that lingered in the air.
“All this pain and destruction….” The tuatara picked up a bloody feather and shook her spiky head. “I told you, the beast won’t stop unless you listen to me. You won’t survive unless you listen to me.” Her third eye burst open.
The jerboas released ear-splitting squeals, and the birds flapped in place.
“What do we do?” screeched a hawk. “The beast is out there!”
“Out there and angry!” added a falcon.
“We need to trap him!” cried the jerboas. “We need to repair the net now!”
Despite their fatigue, the animals raced toward the crater, full-speed.
“We have to start right away!” they exclaimed. “Prepare your paws! Ready your beaks! We have no time to—”
But as the animals peered into the gigantic hole in the earth, they fell suddenly silent. The net had burned to cinders, glowing like a fiery spider’s web.
“Mon dieu! It is hopeless!” wailed Bismark, wringing his tiny paws. “We’ll be the beast’s midnight mincemeat!”
“No…we’ll fix it…” Dawn started. “We’ll—”
But the tuatara scoffed, cutting her off. “We have no more time,” she said coldly. The spikes on her back seemed to shine. “Otto was the beast’s final threat.”
“Final threat?” Tobin gulped. “What did the beast do to him? How can we save him?”
“It’s too late for Otto,” snapped Polyphema. She was shaking now, as if overcome with panic and fury.
“What do we do?” asked a kiwi.
Everyone started shouting at once.
“We have no net! How can we trap the beast with no net?”
“Look at what happened to Otto. We’re next!”
“The beast will roast us and have us for dinner!” they cried.
“Everyone—quiet!” Polyphema raised a claw, silencing the crowd. All eyes turned to face the tuatara. In the dim light of dusk, her scales shimmered like crystal. “There is only one thing to do,” she announced.
“What is it?” asked the jerboas.
“We’ll do anything,” added the birds.
For a moment, the fear on Polyphema’s wrinkled face gave way to something else, something commanding, something almost calm. “We give the beast what he wants,” she explained. The tuatara paused. When she spoke again, her voice pierced the air like sharp ice. “We banish the birds.”