The Nocturnals. Tracey Hecht

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      As the river picked up in speed, so did the Brigade. Dawn stayed in the lead, matching the current’s pace. Bismark shadowed them from the treetops above, gliding from branch to branch. And Tobin trundled behind Dawn, trying his best to keep up.

      “Oomph!” The pangolin winced as he stumbled over a pointy rock. Taking a seat on the long, damp grass, Tobin examined his tender foot and inspected his scales for nicks. “Oh dear,” he muttered, noticing one on his leg. But then he noticed something moving in the aldrovanda bush just a tail’s length away.

      Tobin quietly rose to his feet and squinted into the brush.

      “Hello?” he called, nervously coiling his tail. “Is somebody there?”

      The pangolin padded closer and peered into the feathery leaves. There, tucked behind a cluster of deep scarlet blooms, he saw a quivering mound of fur and two terrified eyes.

      “Oh,” said Tobin, lowering his scaly head. “Hello.”

      Slowly, a fuzzy brown nose poked out of the brush. It wriggled twice and then retreated back into safety.

      Suspecting the nose needed time to adjust, Tobin waited.

      Sure enough, moments later, the nose reappeared. This time, a tentative paw followed. Little by little, one limb at a time, a stout, furry wombat emerged from the foliage, drenched and dripping with river water.

      At once, the pangolin recognized those eyes—they were the same ones he had seen looking up from the log in terror. “Are you all right?” he asked, cocking his head.

      But the wombat could not seem to reply. Despite the warmth of the night, her body trembled, from her round, fluffy cheeks to her short, stubby tail.

      The pangolin scanned his surroundings for signs of Bismark or Dawn, but all he could see was the black of the night and the reflection of stars on the water. Not quite sure what to do, Tobin decided to simply introduce himself.

      “My name is Tobin,” he said, his voice soft and sincere.

      Finally, the wombat spoke. “My name is Cora,” she whispered. But still, she continued to shake, and her eyes remained frightened and wide.

      Tobin cupped his scaled chin in his paw, searching for the right thing to say.

      “When I’m afraid,” he began, taking a seat on the ground, “I spray a smell from my scent glands. It can be rather unpleasant.” Tobin bent his head in embarrassment. “And sometimes,” he added, “I do it by accident, when there’s nothing scary at all.”

      Cora nodded. “When I’m afraid, my fur quivers.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “But when I’m really afraid,” she revealed, “I quiver on the inside.” Cora wrapped her paws around her waist and looked out into the midnight sky.

      Tobin looked out as well, but he was not sure for what. Then he remembered his friends. “I have a brigade,” he told Cora, showcasing his shimmering cape.

      Cora tilted her head. “What’s a brigade?” she asked.

      Tobin thought for a minute. “It’s company,” he proclaimed. “With matching outfits.” Satisfied with his explanation, the pangolin smoothed a bit of snakeskin that had caught on his scales. “Would you like to meet them?” he asked.

      For the first time that night, Cora’s shoulders relaxed and the crease in her brow seemed to fade. She nodded.

      But before Tobin could figure out which way to go, a familiar voice filled the air.

      “Botanical beasts! Plants of pestilence! Villainous vines! Stand down, at once!” And then, just a short ways downstream, Bismark emerged, hacking the brush with a stick.

      Tobin cleared his throat.

      “Oh!” said the sugar glider, raising his chin. “It’s you, my scale-skinned chum.” Bismark pranced forward, still waving his stick through the air. “And, ooh!” he continued, spotting the wombat. “You’ve found yourself a little amiga!” He patted Tobin on the back. “I’m rubbing off on you already, I see.” But then Bismark squinted and took a step back. “Why…it is you, mademoiselle! The damsel in such distress on the log.” Bismark planted his twig machete into the ground. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Bismark, god amongst gliders. And I am here to save you.” The sugar glider graciously bowed.

      Cora looked to Tobin.

      “Come, these plants are not to be trusted—we must move to safety at once!” Bismark continued, wielding his twig again. “And that would be east, or west, or…I mean…” The sugar glider scratched the small patch of bald skin on the crown of his head.

      “I believe we are safe right here,” Dawn announced, as she, too, emerged from the brush. “I have searched the banks in both directions. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.” The tawny fox crossed the grass to join the rest of the group.

      “Dawn,” said Tobin, “this is Cora.”

      “Cora,” said Dawn, eying the wet, wide-eyed wombat, “did you just come from the river?”

      Cora nodded.

      Noticing that Cora was trembling again, the pangolin drew close to her side.

      “Was that you we heard screaming? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Dawn pressed.

      The wombat looked at Tobin, who gave a reassuring tilt of his scales.

      Cora drew in a deep breath. “My brother,” she cried, the words coming at last. “My brother, Joe. He’s… he’s been taken!”

      Dawn narrowed her eyes. “Taken by whom?” she asked.

      The wombat shook her head from side to side. “I didn’t see,” she replied. “It all happened too fast. We were just chewing on roots.” Cora gulped. “And then, all of a sudden, there was a noise…a rustling…then footsteps. My brother yelled at me to run, so I did, and…and…”

      “And you didn’t see who it was,” confirmed Dawn.

      Cora shook her head again. “We ran as fast as we could and jumped into the river.” The wombat gazed toward the water. “I thought we’d be safe on the logs…but when I looked back, Joe was gone!”

      Bismark let out a grunt. “We’ll find the scoundrel who did this diabolical deed!” he snarled, tightening his grip on his stick.

      Cora nodded in reply, but tears welled in her eyes and her brown fur continued to shake.

      Tenderly, Tobin reached for her paw. “And your brother,” he said. “We’ll find him, too.”

      The fox gazed into the night. The moon had reemerged from the clouds and its glow was yellow and dim. She tried to shut out the thought that Cora’s brother might have met a different, darker fate. “Yes,” she said. “We will find him.”

       Chapter Four

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