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Ben made his way through the branches until his head emerged beside Firedrake’s paws.
“Oh, young master!” cried Twigleg, bending down anxiously from Firedrake’s neck. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, he is, but not for long!” Sorrel made her way down Firedrake’s neck and seized Ben’s hand. Twigs kept catching in the boy’s clothes, but Sorrel managed to pull him free of the branches and heave him up on Firedrake’s back. Twigleg clung to Ben’s jacket and scanned the sky anxiously. But there was no sign of the mother roc.
Firedrake growled threateningly at the chick one last time, then spread his wings and rose in the air. He shot away like an arrow, flying in an arc down the ravine. But he did not get far.
“There!” cried Twigleg, pointing ahead with trembling fingers. “Look! Ma Roc is coming back.”
With a mountain goat in her talons, the huge mother roc was heading straight for them. The tips of her mighty wings brushed the sides of the ravine.
“Turn around!” Ben shouted to Firedrake. “Turn around — she’s much, much bigger than you.”
But the dragon hesitated.
“Firedrake, turn around!” cried Sorrel. “Or are you planning to pick us up in pieces from the ground after you’ve fought the bird?”
Behind them, the young roc screeched. Its mother responded with a furious cry. Dropping her prey, she headed for the dragon, feathers bristling, claws braced to attack. Ben could see the whites of her eyes.
At last, Firedrake turned. “Hold on tight!” he called.
Letting himself drop like a stone, he plunged deep into the ravine until it was so narrow the giant bird couldn’t follow him.
Twigleg looked up anxiously. The great roc bird was directly above them. Her dark shadow fell on Firedrake. She, too, dropped through the air, but her wings struck the rocky walls of the ravine. Screeching furiously, she rose once more and tried again. With each attempt to dive-bomb the fleeing dragon, she came a little closer.
Firedrake felt his strength fading. His wings were heavy; he was spinning around and around.
“It’s stopped working!” cried Sorrel. Desperately she reached behind her. “Quick, quick! The flask of moon-dew!”
Ben plunged his hand into his backpack and put the flask into her paw. Undoing her strap, Sorrel inched her way forward. “I’m coming!” she cried, wriggling down the dragon’s long neck. “Turn your head to me, Firedrake!”
Ben heard the giant roc chick in the distance, its screeches sounding increasingly desperate. Once more its mother tried to dive into the ravine, but in vain. Cawing hoarsely, she turned.
“She’s flying back!” cried Ben. “She’s going back to her chick, Sorrel!”
“Huh!” Sorrel shouted back. “She might have thought of that before!” Arms trembling, she hung from the spiraling dragon’s neck and let a drop of moon-dew fall on his tongue.
Firedrake felt his strength return at once. “Can you hold on, Sorrel?” he gasped, slowly descending.
“Yes, yes!” the brownie girl called back. “Just get us away from that horrible bird!”
The ravine narrowed yet further until it was a mere cleft between the walls of rock. Firedrake shot along it like a thread passing through the eye of a needle. At the far end it opened out into a wide, desolate valley lying among the mountains like a shallow bowl filled with stones. No foot seemed ever to have trodden here. Only the wind blew through the scant grass.
Firedrake landed at the foot of a mountain as round as a cat’s arched back. Other mountains rose behind it. Snow-covered peaks shone glittering white in the sun.
With a sigh of relief, Sorrel dropped from Firedrake’s neck and fell into the grass.
“I wouldn’t want to do that again in a hurry!” she groaned. “Not on your life! Puffballs and penny buns, do I feel sick!” She sat on the ground, picked some grass from between the stones, and stuffed it rapidly into her mouth.
Ben slipped off Firedrake’s back, carrying Twigleg. He could still hear the screeching of the young roc in his ears. His pants were torn, his hands were scratched, and he had lost his Arab head-cloth in the tangled branches of the giant roc’s nest.
“My word!” said Sorrel, giggling at the sight of him. “You look as if you’ve been trying to steal blackberries from the fairies.”
Ben plucked a few dead leaves out of his hair and grinned. “Wow, was I glad to see you three!”
“It’s Twigleg you have to thank,” said Sorrel, putting away the little flask of moon-dew among Ben’s things. “Twigleg and the dracologist. Without her moon-dew, Firedrake would have had to go in search of you on foot.”
Ben put Twigleg on his arm and tapped his nose. “Thank you very much indeed!” he said. Then he patted Firedrake’s long neck and nudged Sorrel in the ribs. “Thank you all,” he repeated. “I really did think I was going to end up as bird food.”
