Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [3]
She slitted her eyes open and peered at her surroundings. Grawligs lay sprawled around a campfire. Beyond the light cast by burning logs, night shadows hid the forest. Two females turned spits, roasting what looked like large deer. A group lounged almost in a pile under trees across the clearing. They made loud rhythmic noises Kale assumed must be a song.
No one seemed to be interested in the captive trussed up and lying under a bush. Two grawligs sat just a few feet away as if they’d been set to guard her. Even they ignored her. They picked over a knee-high pile of dirty mushrooms, popping them into their drooling mouths, smacking their lips as they chomped on the treats.
Kale closed her eyes against the sight, hoping to protect her stomach. The repulsive smell of the grawligs could not be shut out so easily. To distract herself, she searched her memory for tales of the mountain ogres.
What’s true and what’s fable?
In the stories, they eat anything they catch. Lucky for me, it looks like they prefer roasted venison to roasted o’rant.
Dumb and vicious. I think I can testify to that much.
Afraid of tight places? Maybe.
Clumsy with their fingers.
Moving her head just enough to look down, Kale examined the cloth binding her hands together. She wiggled her wrists, and the loose knot unraveled.
Well, they don’t tie knots very well.
She glanced up at her guards to see if they’d noticed her movements. They were still bent on stuffing the forest fungi past their flabby lips.
Carefully, she moved her ankles apart an inch, and then back and forth until she could slip her bare feet out of the binding.
Can I escape?
She watched the two grawligs push dirt-encrusted mushrooms into their mouths. Their pile dwindled with every minute. Soon they would have nothing to distract them. Could she crawl away? Would they turn and catch her? Should she wait until the females declared the roasting deer done and passed the meat around?
If I wait too long, I’ll probably be dessert.
Kale made her decision. Rolling onto her stomach, she crawled deeper into the bushes surrounding the camp. The grawligs’ caterwauling covered the crunch of leaves and twigs under her as she slithered away from the light. On the other side of low bushes she found herself against boulders, part of the mountain looming over the smaller hills.
She rose to her hands and knees and crept another ten yards. Then on her feet, but still nearly doubled over, she followed the jumble of rocks. Her muscles protested, but she pushed on.
Distance muffled the noisy voices of her captors. Kale breathed more deeply, begging her body to relax. Surely tension caused as much of her pain as the injuries inflicted by the grawligs.
A shout went up from the camp, followed by a clamor of voices and howls from the angry brutes.
Kale quickened her pace, looking over her shoulder, expecting to see dark, hairy shapes rising out of the forest to chase her. One misplaced foot slipped into a hole, and she found herself sliding, not away from the rocks and down the mountainside, but into a narrow opening under a huge boulder. She grabbed for roots to try and break her fall. Loose dirt rained down around her as she continued to scrabble, sliding ten feet farther before landing on a hard rock floor.
The impact jarred her aching body. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Debris still showered on her head. Instinctively, she lifted her arms to cover her hair.
The last trickle of dirt slowed and then settled. Kale relaxed her jaw and opened her eyes. Pitch dark surrounded her. She listened and heard the plink of dripping water somewhere behind her. She shivered. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
Cold and frightened, she looked around for a means to escape. Peering upward, she could make out the opening and the starry sky beyond.
A cave. This may be good. Aren’t grawligs afraid of closed-in places? I sure hope so.
A scuffling warned her that the grawligs