The very moment Littlefoot felt the arid land under his feet, the scorching waves of heat from the bright circle, and heard the dead silence of all but a few mud hoppers jumping in there pools, he knew were he was. Heart rending terror seized him so quickly it was if it had been waiting for him. Not here again--ANYWHERE but here again!
His neck lashed too and fro, hoping to find somewhere to hide. To his relief, he saw one of the colossal thorn bushes that grew as the only visible plants in this dead, desiccated landscape, and he ran into it at full speed.
Whenever he came to this this place, HE was always there. It didn't matter if it was at the mud pools, or the rock arches, or the mountains that burned: HE was as much a part of this place as thirst and heat and hunger were. As soon as he made it into the thorn bush, bathed in the feeling of safety, he turned to the threshold he had run into and waited for it to come.
He didn't have to wait long.
A shadow fell on the threshold of the thorn bush, and with it came the deep, heavy, harsh breathing of a titanic creature.
'... Little one... It's been awhile, hasn't it?'
Littlefoot shuffled against a rock, shivering in terror. It didn't matter his many times they had worked in the past: he was always afraid the thorns would suddenly stop working.
A massive head poked down to look into the threshold. That face-- HIS face-- touched some primal fear in Littlefoot that seemed deeper than the mountains and older than the sky.
The monster blinked it's one good eye and grinned it's awful grin. Littlefoot's breath hitched fearfully.
But then something happened. Littlefoot had had this dream so many times in his life that even in the middle of dreaming he had an idea of how things should progress. But the beast opened it's mouth and said something that went completely off script of what he usually said around this time.
'I know about your plunge into the river, little longneck,' the it told him, tilting it's head a little to try to get a better view of the longneck in the shadows.
'It always sounds like such a peaceful way to go, doesn't it? No wounds, no blood, no marks on the body-- the corpses almost look asleep when you drag them out of the water... But you know better now, don't you little one?'
The smile of razors tightened as it's teeth were trying to burst out between it's lips. Anger flared in it's one good eye. Suddenly, he leaned his head into the bush threshold, trying ram through it. Little stumbled backwards with a startled cry as the entire thornbush shook. The thorns dug into the creature's scalp.
'Yes,' it seethed. 'You know now. I certainly know. Drowning is an awful, agonizing way to die. It's a pisser, isn't it? Not being able to breath, your body burning for air, your last thoughts filled with miserable panic!...' Then it paused, leaning it's head away from the unbreakable spiky barrier with some resignation. 'Still... It's not as agonizing as how your grandparents will end.'
Littlefoot stood wavering inside the thorn bush, back up as far inside as he could without taking himself on the thorns. A curious flicker appeared by behind the fear on face.
'W... W-what do you know about that?' he asked, still shivering as still very clearly cowering in terror at the thing waiting for him outside.
The beast's furious smile slowly relaxed. Sadistic amusement appeared in it's place.
'... Come out from that bush, little one.'
Littlefoot's lips twitched. 'No. You're lying to me,' he said, a little bit surer of himself now. He wished he had the gang here: then he could talk like a leader instead of just talking like himself.
The monster gave a truly ugly smile and said: 'If you come out of there, I'll tell you everything I can. Maybe what I know can help you save your grandparents. Go ahead; this is a dream, right? It's not like you have anything to lose.'
That was true. This was just a dream. In the past, whenever the creature managed to catch him, Littlefoot had always just woken up. Worst come to worst, stepping outside of the thorn bush would simply end the dream a bit early.
But something was off. Very, very off.
Littlefoot slowly shook his head.
'Never.'
He expected the creature to become angry as he said this. It didn't. If anything, it's look of amusement grew.
'... So sorry about your friend. She used to be such a sweet girl.'
Littlefoot felt a jolt run up his spine.
'What do you mean?'
Suddenly, and earthshake began to rip the ground appart. Littlefoot stumbled around his little safe spot, trying to avoid swaying into one of the spike. As fissures erupted from the ground, the creature began to laugh. Just like Chomper, there was the slightest breathy hint of a roar in his voice in his laugh. But Chomper's laugh never sounded so cruel and heartless.
'Next time, little one, I'll catch you before you can make it to the thorns... If those two don't catch you first.'
'Wait a minute!' Littlefoot shouted, and was an inch away from running at the threshold. Dust was being kicked up into the air as thick as a sandstorm. 'What do you know about Ali? Hey! Get back here!'
But the sand was already starting to block his vision. He heard a screech in the distance, and the sound of rushing wings. He coughed hard as the sand swirled around him like a torrent, blocking the badlands, the thorns, the beast, the flier-- everything except the thrumming anger of the earth as a rock
----------------------------------
hit him square on the snout as he thrashed about besides his bed. His eyes snapped open and immediately began to water from the pain.
"Oww!" he said sorely, rubbing his nose with his forepaw, then checked quickly to make sure he didn't accidentally bloody his own nose. His paw was clean, and he sighed, gently holding it to his chest to feel the beat of his heart.
It was early morning, and he was in the Great Valley. The bright circle looked like a swollen fruit hanging low in the sky, coloring the clouds a stunning pink purple and orange as it rose. The mornings here weren't the most beautiful Littlefoot had ever seen; the ones from Chomper's old island took home that prize. Still, for a place that already seemed to have everything, the Great Valley did had some pretty spectacular sunrises.
He looked to his bed, and saw memories of thorns laced in the matting of the dry leaves.
'So sorry about your friend... She used to be such a sweet girl.
Littlefoot's brow suddenly furrowed, and he angrily kicked his bedding, sending slivers fluttering down like leafy snowflakes.
"What would you know, anyway?" Littlefoot whispered. "Ali's fine. I know she is. And my grandparents are going to be fine too."
He looked over his shoulder at the valley. Still as beautiful as ever. It was funny: it always seemed to look more beautiful just before he went out on adventures.
"We're going to be fine..." he whispered to himself.
When he looked back to his grandparents the worries of the dreams lessened. He slowly walked up to their sleeping forms, looking at their peaceful expressions. He loved his mother with all his heart, but he never knew her for very long. He loved his dad too, but he also didn't really feel like he knew him. To Littlefoot, the words 'mom' and 'dad' usually made him think of his grandma and his grandpa. There had never been a time in his life when they weren't there for him.
He walked up to his grandma, and kissed her gently on the snout. He did the same for his grandpa.
"I love you," he whispered to them. "I love you both so much. We're going to make it back with the medicine. I promise."
Neither stirred, save for the deep sound of their breathing. He couldn't tell if they were any better or worse than yesterday, but they still definitely looked sick.
"... I promise..."
With one final glance, Littlefoot walked out of his nest and headed for the western entrance, snagging a few leaves along the way to fill his belly.
In spite of everything, he smiled a little at the sky. The air was warm, the wind was beginning to rise, and overall, it was a truly beautiful day for an adventure.
