chapter 21

The River

Twig turned, looking in all directions, orienting himself.

“This looks right,” he said. “I know this is the way. See that poplar tree? The one with the split trunk? I remember that tree.”

“What’s that prove?” Basil questioned.

“The poplar wasn’t far from the river. There was a large rock on the other side of it. We head this way, the sun to our backs. I’m betting that we’ll be at the river before dark.”

They scrambled beneath the spicebush and wild ginger to the base of the ancient poplar. The three friends arched their heads back, looking up, up, up to the very distant branches, high above the forest floor. The tree, strikingly massive, was an excellent landmark, with a smooth, gray trunk that stretched a hundred feet above them. Twig hurriedly skirted the roots of the tree to the other side.

“Yes! It’s here!” he called out. “The rock, the large patch of ferns . . . it’s all here, just like I remember!”

Lily hopped over one of the massive roots and joined him. “Good job, Twig,” she said.

From their vantage point, out from beneath the brambles and wild ginger and mayapples, he could sense they were getting close. With the green-yellow dappled sunlight warming his whiskers, Twig felt exhilarated. He lifted his nose into the sweet-smelling breeze. Something foreign, yet familiar, tickled his whiskers and pulled at his heart.

“This way!” He pointed. “Can you smell it in the air? That’s the river. We’re not far now!”

They set off, the sun behind them, heading east. The tall trees, mostly poplar and beech, stretched above them like canyon walls, their highest branches in another world of sunrises, sunsets, lightning storms, drifting clouds, and soaring hawks.

The air grew saltier, carried on a breeze in little puffs that glided across the marsh grasses. Suddenly, just as Twig remembered from before, the trees opened up to a vast, late-afternoon sky, and the three friends found themselves high up on a cliff. The unobstructed breeze rushed at them, rippling their fur, blowing their whiskers back, and they looked at one another, amazed, laughing and pointing. The sky was an intense cobalt blue, with puffs of white that slid across the blue like skaters on ice. Circling gulls called out, banking and gliding on the fresh wind.

“I’ve never . . . wow!” stuttered Lily. “You can see . . . everywhere!”

Even Basil couldn’t control his excitement. “It’s amazing!” he exclaimed. “Look, there! You can see the river bending. Where does it go? And look . . . as far as the eye takes you . . . so much sky!”

The three sat on the embankment, nibbling on sweet green grass, staring at the scene stretching out in front of them. Char lay in the weeds, his nose pointing into the breeze. Lily scanned the river far below them.

“Is this where you found Char?” she asked.

“Near here,” replied Twig. “By the way, be careful. The edge of the embankment can collapse in a second. I don’t want to fall into the river again.”

Basil and Lily exchanged a nervous glance, and then backed slightly away from the cliff.

“Well, what do we do now?” Basil asked.

“We figure out a way to get Char back home, wherever that is,” Twig answered. The three of them studied the river as it flowed at the bottom of the steep cliff. They noticed the huge piles of flotsam that had accumulated and piled against the riverbank. Tons of driftwood and debris had been deposited over the years and years of high tides, creating dunes and hills and floes . . . a scavenger’s delight.

Char lifted his nose into the air as though smelling something familiar, but his wings hung limp and frail and his coloring had become worse, even more ashy and dull. The seriousness of their adventure suddenly hit them hard.

“Well,” Twig said finally. “We aren’t helping Char get better by sitting here.” He nodded at the river and the piles of debris. “This is a tidal river. It ebbs and flows. That’s how we’re getting Char home. All that stuff floated in and was left here. I bet Char’s egg floated in the same way. We need to follow the tide back out.”

“I don’t know anything about rivers,” Lily said.

“Hey, me neither,” added Basil. “This looks dangerous. What makes you think we can just float out to sea, like it was nothing?”

“I didn’t say that,” Twig answered. “I just know we have to. We may have to build a boat.”

“Build a boat,” Basil grumbled. “Just like that. Build a boat and float down the river.”

Lily giggled.

“Yes,” Twig replied calmly.

“We don’t know anything about building a boat,” Basil snorted.

“What about supplies?” Lily asked. “Materials? And food? We’ll have to take food with us, so we’ll have to store some up. There’s no telling how far we’re going. Or for how long,” she added wistfully. “But I can see boards . . . and pieces of rope . . . and vines. We’ll have stuff to use. I bet we can find all sorts of materials in those piles of debris.”

Basil’s tail twitched. “Won’t that take quite a while?” he pondered. “Seems like that’d take forever!”

“Then we’d better get going,” Twig replied. “Come on, Char.” He patted the dragon gently.