Crack!
A gunshot echoed through the mountains. There weren’t many hunters willing to trek into that wilderness, but those who did were serious. They camped out, wore camouflage, and fired traditional rifles for the sport of it.
Crack!
Roz and Brightbill were desperate to stay clear of the hunters. However, that was proving difficult. The trees were tightly packed together and the undergrowth was tough and tangled. So they followed the deer paths that cut through this part of the forest. But they never knew when or where the next shot would be fired.
Crack!
The gunshots were growing louder. Our friends slowed to a crawl, afraid of being seen or heard. And then the chatter of forest animals fell silent.
CRACK!
A bullet whizzed through the undergrowth and a deer went bounding away. At the same time, birds screeched and flapped into the air. Unfortunately, one of those birds was Brightbill. Scared and confused, the young goose fluttered up to a tree limb just as two hunters emerged from the bushes.
“What’s a goose doing alone in these mountains?” said Hank, staring up at Brightbill. “And what’s it doing in a tree?”
“There must be something wrong with it,” said Miguel. “Maybe you should put it out of its misery.”
Hank reloaded his rifle. “We’re here to hunt deer,” he said, “but it looks like we’re having goose for dinner.”
Had the hunters known Brightbill the way we do, reader, I’m sure they would have left him alone. But they knew nothing about him. To them, Brightbill was just another goose, a meal, and they were getting hungry.
The hunter raised his rifle.
He took a deep breath.
His finger reached for the trigger.
And then a fierce gust of wind suddenly blew across the forest floor. No, not wind. Footsteps! Something was stomping toward the hunters! Their rifles were ripped away, bent into hooks, and thrown aside.
The men had hunted all manner of beasts, but they’d never come across this… this… well, they didn’t know what this thing was. It looked like a tree stump, standing on two long roots, with branches hanging from its sides. The men stumbled backward, eyes and mouths opened wide. Then they turned and ran, and their terrified noises trailed off through the leaf litter.
The goose was terrified too. He slumped off his branch and into his mother’s arms. The poor bird was trembling with fear, but he was unharmed.
“I am so sorry, Brightbill,” said the robot. “I should have acted sooner. You are safe now, I promise.”