Straight On Till Morning (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,80
pushing. Tinker Bell nodded vigorously and started to fly up but quickly realized there was nothing she could do. Each drop was the size of her head; already her wings looked crushed at the tips.
She hid under the bench.
Wendy wrestled with the pole, dress and slip plastered against her body by the torrents of rain. Water streamed into her eyes whenever she tried to look up and see where they were going. Eventually she surrendered to the greater power of nature and just pushed as hard as she could, blind, hoping it was toward the eastern shoreline. The wind worked the surface of the river into a rippling frenzy; the boat spun on its hull like a compass, twisting every direction.
She finally felt the keel of the boat touch soft, sandy bottom. Wendy leapt out. The water was freezing, all thoughts of the desert washed away along with its red dust and sweat. She gritted her teeth and yanked on the boat, dragging it out of the river and as far up the bank as she could manage. It wouldn’t do to leave such a pretty, well-made thing to drift out into the ocean or smash itself to bits on the rocks. And it might come in useful later. Things had a way of doing that in adventure stories.
Besides, it was the first boat Wendy had ever made.
“Tink! Come with me!” She held out her left hand. Without a single protest jingle, Tinker Bell zoomed like a well-trained bee out from under the bench and into her friend’s palm. Closing her fingers gently over the fairy, Wendy put her head down and ran into the forest.
The noise of the rain was considerably louder here. Giant drops hit giant leaves with splats that reverberated like ancient drums. Just breathing was tricky in the constant deluge; Wendy came close to choking several times as she took in gasps of rain along with air.
Tinker Bell’s glow peeped out of the cracks between Wendy’s fingers.
Find a trufualuff tree, she jingled moistly. Like at the Lost Boys’ hideout. They’re hollow to their roots.
Wendy looked for one as best she could, since she didn’t perfectly remember those trees and botany was not her strong suit.
There were no edges or shadows in the jungle, just a dark, twilighty gray that made shapes and distances difficult to judge. She stumbled to avoid nearly invisible, deep black pools that were home to playful but spiny seven-legged carapaced things that leapt and splashed in high arcs between them. The whole exercise was exhausting.
Finally, Wendy saw a tree with a comfortingly wide trunk and giant knobby roots. Although she had a fair idea this was their goal, it was confirmed by an intense jingling and shaking of her fairy-holding hand. And there it was, at the base of the trunk: a triangular-shaped hole framed by several intersecting roots. Just wide enough for Wendy to slip through, if she held her breath and twisted herself round like a cork.
“Go take a look,” she suggested, opening up her hand. Tinker Bell obligingly buzzed out and down into the hole. Fairy glow flickered and bobbled like a candle in a lantern as she zipped around inside the tree. She reappeared at the entrance and nodded vigorously.
“Great,” Wendy said, a little ironically. “A dry hole under a tree. Even more exciting than seeing a jungle again. What a day.”
Glad there was no around to see, she awkwardly stuck one foot into the hole, dangling until it touched a hard-ish surface, then squeezed her other foot in place next to it. Spinning slowly with her hands above her head, she ducked down until she disappeared, a genie shrinking into a bottle.
The little cave wasn’t half as bad as she expected: it was dry, didn’t smell too musty, and didn’t contain any fetid animal refuse. If she pulled her knees up there was even room to sit or curl around herself and sleep if she needed to. Rather than feeling claustrophobic because of the weight of the tree above them, Wendy felt safe under the roots that laced together to make their ceiling.
“On the whole, a very acceptable, ah, hole,” Wendy said approvingly. “If I were a rabbit I should very much like to live in a place like this, permanently.”
We’re just here until the rain stops. Then we have to go find Peter, Tinker Bell jingled, a little anxiously.
“And save the world, don’t forget. We have no idea where the pirates are, or exactly what they