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‘If Firedrake wants to stay,’ said Ben, ‘then his dragon rider stays too, of course. And he’s right. We can’t simply give up on the Pegasus foals. Or Shrii, either!’

‘Exactly,’ said Winston, although Berulu looked far less convinced. When Tattoo gently laid his nose on Winston’s shoulder, the boy looked up in delight.

‘I could do with a dragon rider myself!’ Tattoo whispered. ‘My attacking instincts run away with me very easily. I think a dragon rider is the only thing to be done about that.’

Winston was so happy that his knees almost gave way. ‘Of course,’ he stammered. ‘Of course. I’d love to try. I’m sure Ben can give me some useful tips.’

Firedrake looked at Barnabas with amusement in his eyes.

‘Okay,’ growled Hothbrodd. ‘Then that’s all settled. Can we get away from this clearing now? I’m tired,’ he said, pointing to the griffin faces on the trees, ‘of having those things staring down at me. Or do the rest of you want to hang about until the living models turn up?’

No, none of them wanted that, although Barnabas was still looking very concerned.

‘The tree-man is right, fully-grown Greenbloom,’ squawked Me-Rah. ‘You must leave this place. I can take you to a tree that will protect you. No monkey on this island dares to approach its branches!’

‘Liberty cap mushrooms!’ Sorrel whispered to Hothbrodd. ‘Is that the lost parrot from the birds’ temple?’

‘It’s a long story,’ grunted Hothbrodd. ‘But a tree to protect us sounds good. And I’ve lost the knife I use for carving. I don’t plan on going home until I get that knife back.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The Whispering Tree

Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful,

just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser

than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when

we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the

quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve

an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to

trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing

except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.

Hermann Hesse, Trees

The tree known on Pulau Bulu as the Whispering Tree grew on the banks of a broad river flowing through jungle so dense that many of its inhabitants had never seen the sky. That didn’t bother a parrot like Me-Rah in the slightest, of course, but soon even Hothbrodd could hardly make his way through the thickets, and in the end Firedrake and Tattoo were carrying the whole party on their backs, with Me-Rah following. The two dragons were gliding so low over the sluggishly flowing water that crocodiles snapped at their shadows, and flocks of birds scattered like spray. The trees on the bank, often leaning so far out over the grey-green water that their leaves drifted on the ripples like green hair, seemed to raise their trunks to let Firedrake and Tattoo pass. Butterflies settled on their shimmering scales, adorning them with even brighter colours than Kraa’s palace nest. Innumerable birds filled the humid, sultry air with their twittering, and snakes and lizards darted out their forked tongues from the branches in welcome.

‘Whatever the griffins think of dragons,’ Barnabas whispered to Ben as he clung to the spines on Firedrake’s back, ‘the inhabitants of this island give them a very warm welcome!’

They all knew they had reached their destination even be

fore Me-Rah came down in the mighty tree that covered the water of the river before them with a carpet of blossom. The trumpet-shaped flowers hanging from the spreading branches were so pale a green that they could hardly be told from the hand-sized leaves. Inside, however, the calyxes were bright orange, and flocks of humming birds and sun-birds hovered around them to taste the pollen. It clung to their beaks like gold dust, and even the crocodiles drifting in the river below the tree had pollen on their backs.

The dragons landed only a few metres away from them, but even the huge reptiles retreated from Firedrake and Tattoo with as much respect as all the other creatures they had met.

‘Twigleg, can you explain why the inhabitants of Pulau Bulu are so respectful to the dragons?’ Barnabas asked as they climbed off Firedrake’s back. ‘I admit that I’m surprised.’

‘It’s not only humans who tell tales about dragons, Greenbloom!’ called a voice from a fig tree, before Twigleg could answer. TerTaWa was sitting in the branches with Kupo, Patah, and Shrii’s other macaques. ‘Many of us have dreamed that one of them might find the way to our island. And now here are two at the same time!’

‘What about the black macaques?’ called Winston. ‘Did they get away?’

‘Get away? Huh!’ Lola was swinging from a liana as naturally as if she had been born on Pulau Bulu and not in a barn in Schleswig-Holstein. ‘We caught them all and put them in the baskets they were going to sell us in.’

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