Last time, we left our intrepid hero huddled under a window, hiding from the rain.
The sun warmed the cockatrice’s back. It warbled and stretched its wings. It craned its neck and opened one eye. It shook the rain from its scaly hide.
With a push, the cockatrice leapt into the air. It twirled and pirouetted. It looked through the windows with a satisfied nod.
Monty remained frozen.
The cockatrice crowed into the morning sky. It flew through my woods, searching for its boy.
High and low. Left and right. The cockatrice scanned the ground. No sign or trails pointed to the lost boy.
The cockatrice landed on a knot on the side of a thick oak.
The side of the oak opened, swallowing the cockatrice.
With a screech, the cockatrice fell into the blackness. Darkness obscured its vision. No sound echoed through the vastness.
The cockatrice dropped to the ground. It dug its talons into the wood.
The tree groaned as the wind rustled the branches.
The cockatrice tilted its head. Without light, it knew it was trapped. Flightless.
It ambled through my tree, searching for any sign of life.
In the dark, a pinprick of light twinkled in the distance like a star. A second star on the right appeared.
The cockatrice paused, contemplating which point to walk toward.