Grout chewed on his light breakfast by the north end of the clearing. Being on last duty enabled him to be awake and alert, and he wasn’t getting much sleep anyways. The sun crept over the eastern canopy, revealing a thick fog that covered the high grass, leaving only the pyramid shaped roofs to the six tents, poking out like mountain peaks. Grout was in the shade, a few feet above the ground and just out of the fog. He put another green leaf biscuit into his mouth as he mindlessly stared out at the interior of the forest. It had been quiet the entire night. Not a single peep out of the men or the flaretoms. A possible calm before a terrible storm.

Fwoopf!
Grout dropped his half-eaten biscuit as a sound that exploded like a bag of flour came from the east. He quickly raised his pistol, shifting to defense mode.

A cloud of dust shifted out of the trees, billowing into the clearing. His pistol was steadily pointed at it, but imaginary shards of red crystal plagued his sight and he blinked a few times to rid them. Once his sight was cleared, he dropped off the rock and stood with half of him concealed in fog.

Walking through the cloud of dust and into the clearing was Mr. Rotmyre. He suspiciously minded each one of his heavy steps to avoid a branch or stink on the ground, and then crept through the fog toward his tent.

“Morning,” Grout grunted.
Rotmyre froze in his tracks, in disbelief that he didn’t spot Grout earlier. He quickly composed himself and patted down his button down that was probably twice the worth of Grout’s uniform. He curled his mouth into an unsettling grin and stood up tall in his signature alpha male stance. “Good morning, Captain Grout,” he beamed.

Grout furrowed his brow and lowered his pistol. “What are you doing out in the woods?”

Rotmyre retained his smile and took a few steps to the north. A light breeze blew away some layers of the fog, revealing the bases of the surrounding tents and the ashy remains of the campfire. The wind cooled Rotmyre’s burning scales, a sensation that reminded him of dipping into the cool waters in his hometown during a hot, summer day, very similar to this one. He was within a few yards of Grout and stopped.

“You don’t fool me, Mr. Rotmyre … I know what type of man you are.” Grout’s voice was rough, but soft to avoid waking his men.

Rotmyre callously shook his head. “No … you don’t know me at all.”

Grout nodded with incredible conviction over years in the police force. “Yes, I do … you are the type of man who doesn’t like to give up control of the wheel.” He took a step forward. “You will do anything to not loose your grip … even use my past against me.” He stopped to contemplate what he just said.” … smart.” For a moment, he respected Rotmyre’s manipulative ways. If only Rotmyre knew the severity of those two words and what they could mean to the entire world.

Rotmyre shook his head. A smile returning to his face. “Well you have nothing to fear, captain. I know my place.”

Grout growled and then went silent. He wanted to yell at the smug salesman, but knew he would wake up his crew and didn’t want anyone else to hear what he had to say.

The insects and the plants all tried to avoid Rotmyre’s steps along with the fog that parted around his waist. Mother Nature itself seemed to want to stay away.
Grout looked over at the tents with the care and attention of a protective father. After the flaretom attack, he was incredibly tense and with only two hours of sleep, tired as well. A few steps closer to Rotmyre put him outside the reach of the support of the large rock. His legs wobbled and ached, but quickly renewed their strength. “Tangleroot and the Tinkerer. It’s time that you told me who shared that with you.”

Rotmyre stopped and kicked the dirt. He felt uncomfortable at how they sounded together. He pictured a forest wildfire then a landslide each one connected to the Tangleroot and the Tinkerer. “Someone told me about them.”

“Who?”

Rotmyre shook his head. “I’m not sure, but he definitely was angry at somebody or … something.”

Grout was impatient. He strode forward with a gruff groan that exited his exposed teeth. They were now within fifteen feet of the nearest tent. “You must have known who it was.”

Rotmyre shook his head. “He just said if I met someone who was non-compliant to use those words.”

Grout fiercely growled and spit off to the side. “Stop the nonsense! .. How did you hear about it?”

A stirring came from the tents and they both transfixed their gazes to the camp.

Grout’s frustration continued to grumble out of his exposed teeth. His voice still begrudgingly low. The rest of the clearing was incredibly quiet as if all the wildlife paused to listeni in on their conversation. Grout did his best to keep his voice low. “Tell me, Rotmyre … Tell me the truth.”

Rotmyre sighed. “I just did … but apparently you don’t believe a salesman … most people don’t.”

“Rotmyre…. Rotmyre!”

The large Amphian callously walked away into the dissipating fog, taking advantage of Grout’s awareness of the crew. He was growing ever curious as to what those two words meant and who else would be affected by them. Is it some old spell that makes people do what you want? All he could tell that they seemed frighten an old man that the entire crew could describe as fearless.

Grout continued to call to Rotmyre, but he fell upon deaf ears. He grabbed the small sack that carried his crackers and biscuits and tossed them into the forest. His breathing was strained and weak, and he held his side as it throbbed in pain. I’m going to find out Rotmyre. Some way … Somehow. He saw Rotmyre sneak into his tent. Its crimson slythstone fabric distinguishable against the standard issue gray of the police officers.

Grout walked back to his post and picked up his pack. His anger was getting the best of him. He needed to keep a clear head or his men would be in danger. He looked over at where Rotmyre entered the clearing, the ground becoming visible in the fog. His heart skipped a beat as he stared over the ground. The fog didn’t seem to clear near the area at all. He knelt down and a burning smell stung his nostrils. Smoke reddened his eyes and irritated his lungs. The ground and trees were charred with smoldering ash. What the hell is this? He looked back over at the camp and noticed that a few of the men were awake and conversing outside their tents. He took another glance at the blackened ground and then returned to camp.

“Captain,” Gobb said, finishing up his morning meal. “Orders?”

Grout waved his arm down. “Meeting at oh – nine hundred. By the east end of the clearing.”

Gobb nodded and headed toward the campfire that was reignited with mouth watering aromas of bacon and scented herbs.

Grout noticed Rotmyre exit his tent, stuffing something into his chest pocket.
“Captain, what are you planning on doing?” Brooks appeared to his right, already in his trench coat.

Grout stared at Rotmyre, studying his every sly, misguiding movement. “Make sure to pack up quickly and I want a security detail on Mr. Rotmyre. We have to make sure he gets back home safe and sound.”

Brooks nodded. “Right away, but I must ask why did we let him come with us in the first place?”

Grout furrowed his brow and looked over at the young detective.

“I meant no offense by it, captain. It’s just part of my job to question things.”

Grout smiled. “I know. I did the right thing by promoting you to detective, Brooks, but this one time I’m going to have to ask you not to ask any questions.”

Brooks held back a smile even though he was more curious what Grout’s answer would have been to his question. “Ok, sir.” He turned around and called over Longfire and Scales.

Rotmyre noticed Grout’s gaze and looked away. He emptied a metal tin of meats and vegetables he had in his hand onto a steel plate then heated his breakfast over the campfire. He kept to himself, Grout suspected, as to not draw any more unwanted attention to himself.

“Lash and Gobb, I need to talk to you.”

The young iguana readjusted his belt to the tightest setting then stood up. Meanwhile his partner was busy stuffing a few last morsels into his gullet – while everyone else was on edge and could only stomach a small meal.

Brooks was waiting for them by the cool shade of the trees and they talked for a few minutes.
As the campfire was mostly abandoned, Brightsun and Leafshot came out of their tent. Leafshot took out a pot to heat up a delicious stew as Brightsun packed up their tent. Rotmyre had finished at this point and was clearing off his plate with a rag. Camping didn’t seem to be meeting Rotmyre’s high standards. He seemed out of place, but yet right at home. He reminisced over the days he used to be a lowly surveyor for the Willisly family. The weeks alone in the wilderness, the endless mapping of terrain, the warm, peaceful sunsets and the cool, starry nights. They used to pay him handsome sums just to go for a day in Malnumbra Forest, but, for all that he could remember, the Willislys weren’t doing too good of late.

“You all set.”

Rotmyre was awakened from his past and noticed Officer Longfire. “In a few minutes.”

“Good,” she said. “Because the captain wants us ready in fifteen.”

Rotmyre nodded, rose from his spot, and headed back to his tent. His legs a bit sore from the stressful running they did the previous day. He could feel Brightsun’s distrustful glare on the back of his neck, Grout’s equally suspicious look from across the camp, and a pair of shimmering emerald eyes from the eastern border of the clearing.

A light rustling came from behind the first row of trees when a shifting darkness went from right to left as the two emeralds glided across the trees, partially hidden behind the remaining fog. A long, dark silhouette formed behind them, reaching all the way up to the northern border. The two eyes slowly moved into the clearing, revealing a snake’s head the size of a small car. Two sharp fangs like katanas stuck out of its mouth. This thing is Amphian? Maybe it can speak our language.

Grout stepped up to the eastern border and prepared to address the men unaware of the gigantic beast camouflaged behind him amongst the greenery.

Rotmyre quickly packed up his tent and took a swig of water. I need to hurry and tell Grout.

“Men … behind me is a river. This will help us find the Longreeds and Snags.”

Rotmyre took apart the rods and began to roll up cloth sleeping bag.

“Brooks and I will take point, Brightsun and Leafshot will take the rear.”

He tucked the tent into his pack. Nervously grasping at anything else he could shove into it. He could sense the snake getting closer, inching in for the kill. He closed up his pack and spun around toward the eastern border of the clearing. His heart racing.

“Make sure to look out for anything suspicious or harmful. If you do, make sure to –“

Grout was interrupted as two emerald eyes carefully and silently ascended above his head. Within the light, a large scaly tail started to coil around Grout. The old veteran reached for his gun, pointed it up to the head of the snake like beast and fired. Crick! The bullet missed the head, but had collided with one of its sword sized fangs. A large chunk snapped and fell onto the ground followed by a stream of hot, yellow venom that sizzled when it met the rock and dirt. It hissed in agony, loosening its grip around Grout. The old veteran took advantage of the distraction and climbed over the large body of the snake. He rolled and turned back with his gun steadily pointed toward its head.

The snake stared him down like a prized piece of steak and snapped its head forward with the force of a spring toy. Grout fired another shot that grazed a spot right near its right eye, but it didn’t stop or recoil. It was determined to take in its prey. Grout was too old and slow to jump over or dodge it and certainly not strong enough to take it head on. He holstered his gun and looked over at his men.

“Grout!” Gobb called to his captain.

He winked at Gobb assuredly and then gazed over at Brooks. A twinkle came to his eyes as he smiled at him. He was content as if he was just about to meet an old friend. He nodded then …

Everyone looked on in horror, as the mouth of the snake consumed the old crocodile, swallowing him whole.

“No!” Gobb pulled out his pistol and fired at the gigantic snake. It raised its head nearly fifteen feet high and hissed. Spurts of venom exited from its cracked fang, nearly landing on Brooks and Scales a few yards away.

Lash and Longfire began firing at the snake only putting a few flesh wounds into it before it slithered away into the darkness of the forest to the north. Their one hope of finding the boys and getting out alive was gone. Their fearless leader was dead.

Next Chapter: 8 - Fengrove Cottage