“Did you see that? Did you? Our nest! Gone! Crushed! Unbelievable! The height of inconsideration!”
The second raven fluttered up beside the third. “Inconsiderateness, I think, is the word.”
“Either one is acceptable,” said the first judiciously.
“I don’t care about the stupid word!” the third raven cried. “I care about our nest!”
Suddenly, Gretel was nearly blown off the tree by a swift burst of air. She turned. The dragon was hovering beside her, beating its translucent wings, staring at her with its terrible golden eyes. The dragon’s mouth was no more than six feet away. He opened it.
“Kill!” the third raven shrieked, and in one of the more comical acts of heroism Gretel had ever seen, the raven dove at the dragon’s head. The dragon snapped at it, and the raven turned and headed back for the tree. “Retreat!” he cawed. “Temporary retreat!”
Now, the third raven was not afraid of dying. As the ravens have already implied, there are some things that they do, and some things they do not do. Dying is of the latter group.
Of course, getting trapped in the stomach of a dragon is, even for a creature that cannot die, an indescribably unpleasant experience.
Though not quite as unpleasant, I would imagine, as getting out again.
The dragon flew closer to Gretel. It snapped at her feet. Gretel could smell its hot horrible breath; see the blood and the foam mingling between its long, sharp teeth; hear the beating of its enormous heart out of time with the beat of its enormous wings. It lunged at her, not only with its head, but with its entire body. It knocked the branch she was standing on clear off the tree. She fell and grabbed hold of the only thing she could.
The dragon’s neck.
The dragon reared backward. Perhaps if it had had its full wits about it, it might have managed to get her off its back. But as it was drunk, it circled in the air and snapped at its own shoulders, but could not manage to get her off.
“Attagirl!” cried the first raven.
“Yeehaw!” yelled the second.
“Incoming!” crowed the third, and it dove for the dragon’s eyes. The dragon twisted away from the attack and beat its huge wings three or four times to rise above the tree. The ravens followed.
Up, up through the black, starry night they rose. Gretel held on tightly to the dragon’s supple, scaly skin as its muscles rippled beneath her. Occasionally the dragon would twist to try to snap at her, but she was too close to its head. She worried that it might use its claws to get at her, as a dog gets at its fleas. But a dragon is not a dog, and that hadn’t seemed to occur to it yet.
From time to time the ravens would reappear beside Gretel and make diving attacks at the dragon’s eyes.
“Avenge the nest!” cried the third raven.
“A bird’s nest is his castle!” cried the second, finally getting into it.
“Habeas corpus!” cried the first, somewhat tangentiallly.
So the dragon kept rising. The air became cold around Gretel’s hands. Her knuckles turned blue. Soon, she and the dragon were higher than the ravens could fly. But the dragon didn’t seem to mind. Its transparent wings took them higher and higher and higher still, until Gretel had to breathe hard to get any air at all, and her head began to spin. Still the dragon climbed.
And then Gretel heard a voice. It was low. And soft. And creepy. It said, “Fee-fie-foe-fesh, I think I smell child-flesh!”
Gretel looked up. There—very, very close—was the moon. His eyes were hard and glistening, like diamonds. His white lips were parted around his sharp, ivory teeth. He was watching Gretel as the dragon rose.
“Oh boy,” Gretel muttered.
Snap! The cold breath of the moon froze the sweat on Gretel’s neck. The dragon felt it, too, and turned. The moon snapped again. The dragon twisted. The moon wanted nothing to do with the dragon. Not that the moon is afraid of dragons. The moon is not afraid of anything, except the sun, and only then because the sun calls him names and he does not appreciate that. Still, the moon does not generally bother dragons. Of course, dragons do not often have children on their backs. And the moon rarely passes up an opportunity to taste the succulent, tender meat of a child.
The dragon twisted, and the moon snapped his teeth.
Twist!
Snap!
Twist!
Snap!
Twist!
Snap!
Gretel fumbled at her belt. She wanted to be eaten by the moon even less than by the dragon. She took out her little dagger. As the dragon twisted and the moon prepared to snap again, she plunged the dagger into the dragon’s neck with all her might.
It did not pierce the scales, but the dragon turned toward her. And toward the moon.
It screamed.
Gretel fell through the air. Her arm was covered in black dragon-blood. Above her, the dragon was screaming its terrible scream and writhing back and forth. Above that, the moon was trying to spit the disgusting dragon-meat out of his mouth, and cursing himself for missing Gretel’s tender flesh. She watched them disappear into the blackness as she fell.
Gretel would die any moment now. That was clear. She had been thousands of feet in the air. Higher than the ravens could fly. Soon she would hit the ground, and all of her bones would be broken, and her brain would smash through her skull, and her heart would stop beating immediately. Or, she thought, she would land on a sharp branch and be skewered like a piece of meat. Her speed increased as she fell. The cold air grew a little warmer. She could see the stars twinkling at her from above.
Then she hit something. It was soft, and she rolled off it and kept falling. She hit another soft thing, and then rolled off that. She hit a third soft thing, and then rolled off that and into the branches of a tree. She fell all the way down the tree, hitting its leafy branches as she fell. Then she hit the ground.
She was not dead.
She sat up and looked around. She was covered with black feathers. She heard a fluttering sound, and saw three woozy black ravens, missing most of their plumage, settling on a branch overhead.
“Ow,” said the first raven.
“Ow,” said the second raven.
“Ow,” said the third raven.
“That hurt,” they all said at once.
“You saved me!” Gretel said.
“Not intentionally,” said the third raven.
“You just happened to hit us on your way down,” said the second.
“Of course, we knew that would happen,” said the first. “We just didn’t know it would hurt so much.”
Suddenly Gretel leaped to her feet and ran off into the woods.
“Manners!” said the third raven.
“We saved her life, and she just runs off without a thank-you?” said the second.
“She’s going to find her brother,” said the first.
“Oh yes,” said the second.
“We knew that,” said the third.
Gretel tore through the wood, branches slapping at her face, vines grabbing at her ankles. “Hansel!” she cried. “Hansel!” The creepy, child-eating moon shone down through the branches of the trees. She ran by his light.
Ahead, in the shadow of a pine sapling, lay a body. It was facedown on the ground. Gretel slowed and approached it. She turned it over and quickly turned away. It was not Hansel. It had a gash across its chest. And half a head. Gretel got up, swallowed bile, and began to run again.