The old deadwood groaned once, twice. Bridget turned an ear, recognizing the sound, even though she’d never heard such impact stresses happen so quickly together. Then came an awkward, flopping plop on the grassy earth.
“Bridget!” came John’s bellow. “Stay!”
Even if she’d known what that meant, Bridget wouldn’t have listened. Fearing John intended to punish her, which was probably a good bet, Bridget threw herself into the darkness beyond the elm – a place she’d never seen even from the windowsill. She ran into thick, damp air and tall grass, seeing little around her and recognizing even less. John’s footfalls pounded in her wake.
“Bridget!” he shouted. Curious… she heard desperation in his words, even fear. “Bridget, don’t go! Please, Bridget. BRIDGET!”
She continued on, losing all sense of him in the thicket. Her long, graceful bounds carried her high over a shallow stone ramp into a barren flatland. The dry earth scraped against her pads. She stopped to lick them, hating the ashen taste, only to forget all about that in a fearful gaze at the dead zone surrounding her. Straight and true it flowed, this somewhat soft, black rock that she sat on, and yet it glowed in the dim white light that groped its way through air so wet, it seemed to float around Bridget like the very breath of God. The dead zone ran to either side as a long, unbroken path of streaked jet, fading only within the dark of night and the slow, rolling mist.
Bridget sat in the shallow abyss, marveling at the almost smooth rock, the thick fog. That zone amplified the undercurrent of chirps and buzzes, distant barks and shrill calls. This was the world she’d long dreamed of, the land of warriors. This was where she belonged!
Then she spied the twin jewels sparkling through the night.
“So beautiful,” Bridget whispered. They fascinated her, beckoning her to sit and partake of their magnificence, and yet she had no time to study them, for with each breath these twin orbs grew larger, piercing the mist. Bridget felt their presence in the rock – a low, emerging rumble. The two small suns approached, their light filling the fog, and then like a storm they rolled forth, flooding her ears with thunder.
“Run!” came a brash order. “Get out of there!”
Bridget didn’t heed that. She felt entranced by the brilliant blindness. If she only held her ground, she knew the onrushing stars would soon be upon her. What a glorious experience that would be!
A tiny shadow fell around Bridget, like a black spot against the overwhelming light. Something shoved her into the hard curb. At once the twin jewels swept by, followed by a hot rush of pummeling turbulence. She cowered in the shoulder of the rock, fearing the passing of doom.
But then, just as quick as it had come, the enigma was gone. Bridget was alone in the mist.
No, not alone, she realized. Scarface stood beside her, scowling.
“What were you trying to do?” the old veteran scolded. “Get us both killed?”
“Killed?” Bridget repeated, denoting another word to learn.
Scarface crawled atop the small ledge of rock. “First things first. Never, and I mean NEVER, look into the eyes of a dragon. They’ll just squash you flat. Don’t attack them, don’t try to outrun them, and don’t try to climb on them. And for goodness sake, don’t crawl into their mouths when they sleep. I know it’s warm in there, but you can’t ever take their silence for granted. They come alive as fast as lightning, and then they’ll just chew you up and spit you out, so don’t do it.”
Still petrified by the rushing thunder, Bridget shook her head in quaking obedience. The old tabby looked down upon her and mellowed.
“Oh, don’t be so scared. They’re not so hard to escape. Look at you; you’re still here, aren’t you? And I’ll tell you a little secret – they’re not as tough as they seem. Look at me!” Scarface stressed, rolling his tail through the hole in his right ear. “One cold night I crawled deep inside one’s mouth, and all it could get the next morning was this!”
Bridget sat up, finding little reassurance in the old cat’s words.
“But I thought, I mean, I thought you got that from being a warrior.”
Scarface leaned back and laughed, flapping the tall grass with his tail. “No, squirt, no, though that’s what others think. I let them; it makes them respect me more.” Then he tapped the crease in his face with his left paw. “But this one, it was from fighting – and that’s just the start. I’ve got many others.”
To be honest, Bridget didn’t like looking at that scar now any more than she had before. Yet something about it gave her a perverse thrill.
“That must have hurt,” she offered as bait, hoping he’d talk about it.
“Of course! But it’s nothing you’d want, squirt. The best warriors, they find ways to escape these things. Like Sebastian. But sometimes it’s got to be done. I had to take this one. If I hadn’t, that old boxer hound would’ve bitten Sebastian good. I had to take it, for him.”
Bridget felt a burden on her heart. “You mean, like you just did here, for me.”
Scarface’s eyes narrowed, burning in the dim light.
“Don’t you think I’ll always be there. A good warrior doesn’t rely on others to bail him out. He’s strong! He’s resourceful! He’s independent! And,” Scarface added, almost as an afterthought, “he looks out for others. Before himself, if need be.”
With a deep breath, he flexed his strong muscles, rippling his matted calico fur from his ears to his tail. Then he rose, stretched again, and glared down at Bridget with a defiant, almost mischievous smile.
“But he always survives,” the tabby stressed. “He perseveres – over everything else. He triumphs. Remember that.”