A while back, when trying to think up characters for this forum, I toyed with the idea of writing a story to introduce one of my characters. I ultimately got the main plot worked out, but I never finished the story itself. I thought it might be worth a read though, plus I liked some of the ideas and wanted to share them, so here’s what I finished, with plot notes filling the gaps. Have a read, and see what you think.
BTW, if there’s anything in brackets, that either means I meant to replace that word or sentence with a better phrasing later on, or it’s a description of an unwritten scene.
Long ago, our world was very different. The land was forever changing, and the mountains burned with the land for days upon nights. It was like this for many turns of the bright circle, and it was not until a very long time had passed that the land at last began to cool, the first plants began to flourish and the plains, and the first strange creatures crawled out of the masses of water that surrounded the now fertile lands. Over time, more strange creatures, each one more amazing then the last, began to arrive, making their homes in the empty lands, until one day, when the first dinosaurs arrived, and made these lands their homes.
Every dinosaur, be it longneck, swimmer, or clubtail lived peacefully in many places across the lands, eating the green food that grew on the various trees that shared their homes.
But things were not always safe for these peaceful creatures. In some lands, the inhabitants were not safe from dangerous meat-eaters, and herds living in these places were threatened by the dreaded sharpteeth, who would attack without warning, destroying many a family. But some places were safer than others, such as the wonderful place called the Great Valley, where many dinosaurs lived together safely without fear of the sharpteeth. And it remained this way, until one day, when the biggest, meanest, nastiest sharptooth who ever lived entered the valley…
“But how did that happen?”
“And it…what?” The spiketail telling the story abruptly stopped, looking at the young ones sitting before him. An entire family of duckbill hatchlings, as well as a spiketail hatchling sleeping peacefully behind them were intently listening to the story he told. He looked at his questioner, a young duckbill sitting closer to him than the rest. “What do you mean, young one?”
“Well, my mother said that the Great Valley was safe from any sharpteeth. How did that one get into the valley?”
The spiketail struggled. “Uh…well, it was a long time ago, back before the valley was safe.”
Another duckbill spoke up “But didn’t you say it was always safe?”
“I…” He stopped. These hatchlings were just too clever for their own good. He sighed, then had a clever thought. “Well, maybe I should stop telling the story. I guess you didn’t want to hear the story of the Lone Dinosaur.”
That had the effect he had hoped for. The young ones instantly leapt up and started begging for him to tell the story to them, shouting over each other in an attempt to be heard. The spiketail spoke over them.
“Alright, alright, quiet down. I’ll tell the story.” The duckbills sat back down, waiting for him to begin. He smiled. Babysitting young duckbills could be trying at times, but he had had plenty of practice and knew how to get their attention. He remembered long ago, how a spiketail herd and a duckbill herd had started working together, to better aid in the teaching of an orphaned spiketail in the care of the duckbills. Over time, the herds had grown close, becoming family to one another. In a way, the spiketail felt like an uncle to the young ones sitting in front of him. He returned to the story. “Where was I? Ah, the sharptooth! That’s right!” He cleared his throat. “Several long-necks saw it coming towards them. But it was too late! They had nowhere to run. The sharptooth came closer, and closer, and all of a sudden…”
A shadowy figure suddenly burst out of the bushes near where the spiketail was sitting. The young ones screamed in terror, and fled behind the sleeping hulk of the young spiketail, who had not been disturbed at all.
The elder spiketail leapt up, as surprised as the youngsters, and turned to face the newcomer, who moved closer towards them before speaking. “Sorry, did I disturb you?”
The spiketail squinted for a second, before recognising the newcomer. “Who are…Ah, Hooter! No, no, I was just in the middle of telling the young ones a story. You just happened to enter during the sharptooth attack.”
“Ah. I see.” The new dinosaur looked past the spiketail, to see the young duckbills cowering behind one another. He came forward into the light, where they could see him. He was a hollowhorn, and an old one at that. His face was wrinkled, and his once brightly coloured skin had dulled with age. He must have been in a nasty fight once, because parts of his body were covered with faded remains of claw marks. The thing that most intrigued the youngsters was a brutal scar that ran across his left forearm, and appeared to have been caused long ago.
The hollowhorn spoke. “Sorry about that, young ones. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was heading for my nest, which is…somewhere around here, I think. My mind must be playing tricks on me again.” He looked around, confused.
The spiketail moved over to him. “It’s over there, isn’t it?” he said, nudging him in the direction he meant.
The hollowhorn looked to the side. “Yes! There it is!” He looked back at the others. “I’d best be off then. Good night.” And with that, he slowly walked off into a deeper part of the valley, humming a song to himself as he did. The spiketail sat back down as the elderly dinosaur disappeared into the bush, the tune he sang fading away. “Should I keep telling my story then?”
Before he could begin, one of the duckbills came out of hiding and spoke up. “Who was that?”
“Hmm? Oh, that was just Hooter. He’s an old inhabitant of the valley. He’s been here as long as I can remember.”
Another duckbill popped up beside the first. “Where did he get the scar from? Did a sharptooth bite him?”
“It’s sort of a long story. Actually, it’s really two stories.”
“How come?”
“Well, the first story is how he came to the valley. The second is how he got the scar. And he didn’t get that for many years.”
“Could you tell the stories to us?”
The spiketail thought about it for a second, struggling to remember how the story went. “I suppose I could.”
The rest of the duckbills moved out of their hiding place and sat nearer the spiketail to better hear the story.
“It’s interesting, many of the swimmers around here greet Hooter when he walks by, but not many of them know anything about him apart from his name.” He chuckled. “And there, they’re wrong too. Hooter isn’t even his real name!”
“It isn’t?” one of the duckbills said. “What’s his real name?”
“For a long time, he didn’t know. When he first came to the valley, he had no idea who he was. He didn’t know where his family were, or who they were! He was lost in a land that was strange to him.”
“What happened to him?”
The spiketail smiled. “This is where the first story begins.”
(UNKNOWN TITLE)
A Tale From The Land Before Time
Chapter One:
Far away, in the distant regions where the Great Circle rises from its slumber every morning, a herd of hollowhorns wandered. They made their way across countless lands, both desolate and dying. They never stopped in any location for long; they were all wanderers, ever since their old nesting grounds had suffered from a lack of water, resulting in their once lush home being transformed into a barren waste. So they continued to walk, urged on by their herd leader, Ambeo, hoping to find a new land of plenty. And this is where we enter the story…
The herd stood in the shadow of the mountains before them, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Although tall, they were far from impenetrable. Gorges and crevasses marred the landscape, although they allowed for easy access through the lands. The entire herd stared in awe, unsure as to where their route would take them next, until at their leader spoke up from the front.
“Alright everyone,” boomed the voice of Ambeo. “We’ll rest here for a while, and then we’ll start heading through the mountains.”
A general sense of ease spread through the herd; all throughout it, families settled down, glad to be relaxing for a part of their long trek, however long or short it may be. Some of the younger
His name was Parry, and he was the youngest son of the herd leader, and right now, he was listening to a story being told by his grandfather, Nitho.
“…And thus, the sharpteeth retreated, due to the clever thinking of the herds, and the inhabitants lived with plentiful green food forevermore. The End.”
Nitho wasn’t really his uncle; he was an elderly relative of his mothers’, but Parry and his family all called him “Uncle” out of habit.
Nitho’s judgements were usually right.
Parry’s younger sister, Crista, spoke up. “Why aren’t we still living there then?”
“I didn’t want to leave. That was my home.”
“That old place?” Rolo had spoken up. “(Speech mocking old home)!”
Parry nodded in agreement. He didn’t remember too much about where they had once lived, but he knew that the food had tasted bad.
“(Start of Nitho’s motivational speech) So, even though we’re leaving our old nests behind, (it’ll be worth it once we find a better home). Memories tie us to our old nests. Home is wherever you choose it to be. You could live in somewhere dreadful, like the top of the coldest mountain, yet if you were happy there, it would feel like home, and anywhere else would be strange to you.”
“So…” pondered Crista, “Our herd could live in large water?”
Nitho laughed. “Who knows? We could end up living in a big forest full of green food, or we could all live by some fast water, and eat the water greens that flourish there.”
A hollowhorn call echoed from the front of the herd; a signal for everyone to (move). Nitho groaned. “Or,” he added angrily, “If Ambeo continues leading everyone on like this, we’ll end up living here in this wasteland.” Nitho had once been herd leader, but that had been back in his youth. Now, in his old age, he mostly entertained the younger members of the herd with mystical stories and tales of his past, although this didn’t stop him criticising the way things were run by Parry’s father, (who he had never agreed with).
(Parry and Crista head off) “C’mon. Let’s find Mom.”
Parry looked around, quietly humming to himself while keeping an eye out for the closer members of his family. Not far off, his cousin Phus was busy getting into trouble with the help of his brother Sor, while in the distance, his fussy aunt Drosa was berating another member of the herd for some reason unknown to him. His older brother Rolo was talking with his father (about herd affairs)
Once again, the loud voice of Ambeo sounded out over the plains; this time, telling the herd to start moving. Parry found himself (squished alongside various herd members getting up and moving). The herd began to move. “That darned fool,” Nitho grumbled, walking up alongside them. “He’s let them rest too long. We’re not going to get much further before nightfall.” “Calm down, Uncle.” Although Parry didn’t want to undermine his father’s position, he knew deep down that his uncle was right. He could see that they had waited too long; the great circle was beginning to disappear from the sky. It wouldn’t be long before the herd would have to stop to sleep.
*
Uncle Nitho was right, as usual. They had only made it so far through the mountains when the lack of light forced them all to stop for the day. Before the day was over, they had made it to a tiny canyon of sorts, nestled between the taller hills. Small shrubs clung to various parts of the otherwise rocky hills, providing a small meal for the herd. Some parts of the canyon walls were less treacherous to climb, and Rolo had managed to find a climbable path to the top climb up to a higher point and see where their current route was headed, and now he was being all smug about how he (knew exactly where they were going).
But Parry was not to be outdone by his smug brother, and he had managed to find a hidden patch of (green food). His mother had said that about them once; that Rolo had his father’s spirit and strength, but Parry had his (families’ skill in finding food.)
“Look at all this green food!” “We must be near somewhere (green; blatant nod to the Great Valley)
(Everyone lies down, making camp for the night.)
(His mother and Crista lay nearby). Nitho lay down nearby. “This is where we’re resting? It’s completely open! And
(Nitho continues to grumble about the danger. Others ignore him. Night falls/Scene change)
*
“Look out!”
A shout woke Parry. He looked around him for the source of the noise, and saw that Nitho was standing on the edge of the canyon, yelling about something. Not many appeared to have heard him, as most of the herd was still sleeping.
“Wake up, you fools!” he shouted, louder this time.
Several other members of the herd stirred and looked around sleepily, wondering what had disturbed their rest. Rolo groggily got up beside him. “What is he on about?” Rolo said, yawning. Parry shrugged, and Rolo lay back down, trying to get back to sleep. Wondering what was alarming him, Parry got to his feet and headed towards his uncle, who was still yelling erratically at the herd, the majority of which were waking by now. One angry hollowhorn shouted back “Be quiet, you old lunatic! Some of us are trying to sleep!” This had no effect on Nitho, who continued to yell.
Reaching the canyon wall, Parry called out to him.
“Uncle! What’s wrong!”
“Don’t you see them?”
“What?”
“Look!” His uncle pointed towards the hills. Parry turned to face them and squinted. There was nothing there. His uncle was imagining things again. He turned away, and prepared to head back to his nest to sleep, but as he did, he could have sworn he heard a snarling noise. Looking back, he saw what the others had missed. Two glowing red eyes stared back at him from the darkness. He leapt back, and saw another two sets on the ridge above him. More were appearing out of the darkness.
Nitho suddenly took a deep breath, and bellowed a loud and ear-splitting call to the herd. The effect was instantaneous. Every member of the herd awoke and leapt up, looking around themselves instinctively in fear. But Nitho’s signal had come far too late for them. Fast biters poured out of the surrounding hills in swarms, overwhelming the sleepy herd.
Instantly, the hollowhorns sleeping at the edge of the herd were overcome by the tiny sharpteeth, while the others who had managed to flee in time were stampeding towards a non-existent exit.
Parry stood silent, unable to process what was happening. His family was being attacked by sharpteeth. A growl behind him broke him out of his stupor. Turning around, he saw a drooling fast biter, who leapt at him, too quickly for Parry to move away.
But the impact never came. Nitho leapt from his perch and collided with the sharptooth in mid-air, knocking it against the ground. Parry stood stunned, watching his elderly uncle prepare for battle against this new enemy. “Run, young Parry! Run!” Nitho shouted back at him.
Without a second thought, Parry scrabbled up the hill where his uncle had been standing moments before, leaping up a rocky route to the heights of the mountains, and climbing even higher. Below him, things got worse, and more fast biters appeared to replace their fallen comrades, quickly overwhelming the elderly hollowhorn who had fought back.
The canyon had never been safe. Nitho had been right, as usual. He fell quickly to the vicious claws of the fast biters, and his body was soon obscured by the masses of sharpteeth leaping at their prey.
*
Parry continued running
Until he realised that no-one was behind him.
Parry looked at the (carnage) in the canyon below him.
Already, several of the elder members of the herd had fallen to the claws of the sharpteeth. He saw his mother and other members of the herd running any which way in a blind panic. To one side, his father and brother were fighting back against the attacking sharpteeth, although neither was succeeding in keeping them away from the rest of the herd. Parry watched in terror as Rolo misjudged the movements of one of the sharpteeth, and it leapt at his face. Rolo cried out and fell to the ground, the sharptooth still clinging to him. Ambeo, seeing his son fall, bellowed in anger and ran to his aid; in his haste failing to see another sharptooth sneak up behind him, where it leapt on his back.
Parry turned away, unable to watch any more. What was he to do? If he went back down, he faced certain death at the claws of the sharpteeth. But if he remained up high, he risked leaving his family to their death, and staying lost in the wilderness. Parry frantically paced on the cliff above the canyon, looking back every few seconds, unsure of whether to stay or to leave. Suddenly something caught his eye.
Looking down, Parry could see that Phus had managed to find a route leading away from the carnage, and was leading the survivors of the herd through it to safety. In the confusion, none of the sharpteeth had seen that their dinner was rapidly disappearing. Parry leapt up, looking around his surroundings for a quick route down the hill to where his family were fleeing. Seeing a slope to one side, he hurried down it towards a different part of the canyon, leaping across rocks and darting through gaps in the cliffside.
After a while, he found he could no longer see the ridge that he knew the remainder of his herd to be escaping through. He stopped. Was he going the right way? He continued downwards, slipping through a tunnel going through the hill, emerging on a ledge overlooking a large forested valley. Parry stopped. His family weren’t here, and there was no other way to get here other than the way he came; he must have gone the wrong way!
He turned, prepared to hurry back the way he came, when a sound behind him drew his attention. The sound of a hollowhorn calling to another echoed up from below him. He took a step forward, and looked down at the valley. It was inhabited! It must be safe, he thought. And his family couldn’t be too far off. If he could catch up with them, he might be able to…
But he never got to complete that thought, because the ledge he was standing on began to crack underneath him. It was too late for him to move. The weight of an almost fully-grown hollowhorn was too much for the ledge to hold. It crumbled under his feet, and Parry fell from the heights, tumbling against the rocky wall of the mountains. He scrabbled against the rock face, trying to prevent himself from falling to his death on whatever lay below him.
Unable to regain his balance, he slipped and tumbled further, now attempting to grab hold of anything sticking out of the hills; roots, plants, even rocks. He reached out and grabbed hold of a tree that was growing out of a crack in the mountain, slowing his fall and swinging his body to the side. The tiny tree was not strong enough to halt his fall for long, and it tore itself loose. Still grasping the tree in his claws, Parry crashed against the rocky hillside, his head hitting a sharp rock with a loud crack.
His grip immediately weakened on the tree’s branches, and he fell back, rocks tumbling past him as his body continued to roll down the hill undeterred. The last thing he saw was the great circle beginning to rise, before all went black, and the ground rushed up to meet him.
Chapter Two:
Synopsis: An elderly dinosaur, Mr. Spikehead, grazes in a field amongst other dinosaurs. Narration tells us his back-story. While grazing, he finds a shiny stone, and returns it to his nest. A nearby dinosaur suddenly shouts out, pointing at one of the mountains. Looking up, Mr. Spikehead notices a rockfall on one of the surrounding mountains, and a young hollowhorn falling with it. He follows the groups heading towards the area. They arrive there, to find a local herd already tending the unconscious hollowhorn. He awakes, with no idea where he is, who he was travelling with, or who he is. Sharptooth roars are heard above, and the residents fear the worst.
*
With no memory of who he is, the young hollowhorn follows an elderly dinosaur to an open area. When there, the other dinosaurs there tell him where he is, and introduce themselves, before attempting to unearth his identity. They have no luck, and the subject is changed when Mr. Spiketail voices his opinion that they should instead find a place where the young hollowhorn can nest. The council advises that he stays with a family near the river. The meeting is adjourned, and each dinosaur heads off.
The Bright Circle rose over the Great Valley, illuminating the scene before them. A young hollowhorn, one that hadn’t quite reached adulthood yet, lay unconcious on the ground amidst countless rocks and other shrapnel. He had clearly fallen from some place above them, and dislodged all these rocks as he fell down the mountain. He didn’t appear to be dead, but it was clear he had landed roughly on the ground, and there was a large bruise on his head.
Chapter Three:
Synopsis: The young hollowhorn heads to a field, walking past numerous dinosaurs in the process. Arriving in the field, he starts foraging for food, inadvertently discovering a hidden patch of food, much to the delight of the nearby dinosaurs. He claiming to be not hungry, but in reality, he is plagued by a remnant of a memory of him finding food for his family. He suddenly remembers a huge, disjointed set of memories, and rushes away in fear and confusion. Arriving at the river, he looks at his own reflection, wondering who he is. While there, he is met by Mr. Spikehead, who gives him some words of wisdom before moving on. Enlighted by these, he heads on, humming as he does. Stopping, he remembers a tune that is somehow important. He sings it repeatedly, trying to make sense of it, and is interrupted by a hatchling who has followed him, and who calls him “Hooter”. He guides the hatchling back to its mother, where it continues to call him “Hooter”. The mother inquires about the name, but he rebuffs it as a nickname, and walks away. The scene changes to night. The young hollowhorn has not been able to find himself a place to sleep. Confused, he heads for the only person he knows; Mr. Spikehead. Arriving at his nest, he awakens the elderly dinosaur, who groggily inquires why he hasn’t nested, before allowing him to sleep nearby.
“Hey! Over there!” The hollowhorn looked up, wondering who had spoken, and turning around to see at least seven different dinosaurs stampeding towards him. He leapt out of the way, just in time for them to stop in their tracks and gobble up the bush. By the time he got back to it, there were hardly any leaves left; the newcomers had eaten them all. One of them, a clubtail, stopped to thank him. “Good job, youngster. Those leaves are hard to find when they first bloom. Most of the time they’re dead before any of us find them.”
“Uh…sure.” The hollowhorn said. “Glad to help.”
The clubtail tilted his head. “I don’t believe I’ve met you before. What’s your name?”
The hollowhorn stammered, unsure of what to say. “Uhh…”
A voice from the back of the group spoke up. “Why, it’s the duckbill that fell off the mountains!” The hollowhorn looked over at the speaker. He was one of the threehorns who had talked to him at the meeting. “I was just talking to old Spikehead about you. He says there (general rambling)
The clubtail went to add something, but as he looked back, he saw the hollowhorn had vanished into the underbush. Mumbling under his breath about the youths these days, he returned to what was left of the bush to talk with his friends.
*
He couldn’t remember anything, and still these images taunted him. Who was he? Where were his family? Why was he alone? What was his name?
“Hooter.”
The hollowhorn looked up. Was that a voice, or was he imagining things again?
“Hooter.”
The voice repeated, this time closer. The hollowhorn turned around. Behind him was a duckbill hatchling, probably not long out of the nest. There was no sign of a parent, what was it doing out here on its own?
“You hoot. You hooted!” The hatchling chuckled. “I hoot too!” The hatchling started humming tunelessly, before breaking down in laughter again. Watching him, the hollowhorn couldn’t help but smile at the antics of this young (duckbill)
“(Hatchling name)?”
The child’s mother suddenly burst out of the underbush.
“Hooter?” the mother paused in thought. “Is that your name then, young one?“
“No, no, just a…” he paused. “Just a nickname.”
Chapter Four:
Synopsis: A week has passed. Hooter, as the hollowhorn now calls himself, has more or less begun to adapt to things in the valley. Mr. Spikehead watches his activities while he eats, reminiscing of his own childhood, and the family he once had, and notices Hooter completely bungling an attempt to eat from the higher trees. He heads over there to give him a hand, and shows him a clever trick of his own, involving scooping up a rock and flinging it against a tree, to get weak branches to fall. Hooter is amazed, and asks him how he knew to do that. Mr. Spiketail says it is an old herd trick, he knows that some hollowhorns used it, and wonders why Hooter didn’t. He discovers that although Hooter has regained some vague memories of who he was, he doesn’t remember many of the foraging tricks that he should know. Mr. Spikehead thinks for a second, and then offers to take Hooter under his wing, care for him, and teach him all he knows. The two head off together, with Mt. Spikehead teaching Hooter certain foraging aspects.
Looking up from his meal, he saw that the young hollowhorn from the
was trying to reach the lower branches of a tree.
(Grumbling about getting up; his old legs ache.)
“Here, young one, what are you trying to do?”
The hollowhorn stopped trying to reach the branches, and turned to face him.
“I’m trying to reach the leaves on this tree.”
“What’s so special about this tree?” Mr. Spikehead remarked. “There’s plenty of trees round here that are easier to reach than that old one.”
“Yes, but that one’s a tree-sweet tree.”
Mr. Spikehead looked up. Its petals had barely started to bloom, yet it was clearly the right tree. This type of tree was rare, because of its tasty leaves, and even tastier blossoms. Usually they didn’t last too long, as they were constantly being eaten by the inhabitants of the valley. Mr. Spikehead hadn’t seen one in more than five passings of the cold times.
“Getting food from high branches is no hard work”, he said, scooping up a pebble with his tail. “All it takes is a bit of practice, and some good aim.” And with that, he hit the pebble with his tail, sending it flying through the air, where it collided with the tree, knocking off some of the looser leaves. The young hollowhorn stood watching, incredulous. “Where in the world did you learn to do that?”
Mr. Spikehead was confused by his reply. “What do you mean? It’s a hollowhorn foraging technique, using rocks to weaken the higher leaves. Of course, a hollowhorn has better suited claws for throwing stones than an old (styracosaur) like me” he chuckled. Then he saw that the young hollowhorn was as confused as before. “You really don’t know how to do that?”
The hollowhorn shook his head.
“But that’s a basic hollowhorn skill! One of the first things you’d have learnt from your herd! Surely you know of your herd’s foraging tactics.”
Again, the hollowhorn shook his head.
“But you found that hidden patch of flowers! How could you…”
“I don’t know” he interrupted. “I remember how to find food, but not how to get it.”
“But…” Mr. Spikehead stopped, and thought for a second. At his age, he should know how to forage from the more difficult trees. On the other hand, the hollowhorn had hit his head pretty hard, and claimed to not know who he was. Could he have forgotten how to get food, of all things?
He looked, and saw that the young hollowhorn was looking at him in confusion. He cleared his throat. “Well, um…listen, young…young…” He paused. “Do you have a name, young one?”
“Um…Hooter.”
“Hooter?”
“It’s not my real name, it’s just a…”
“…a nickname. I understand.” Mr. Spikehead finished. “Why, in my youth, my friends used to call me (Peaches).”
“How did you get that nickname?”
Mr. Spikehead looked embarrassed. “Actually, I’d rather not go into detail. But anyway, what I meant to say was, you look like you need a hand getting some food. Do you want some assistance?”
Hooter shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you for showing me that trick though, Mr…”
“Spikehead. Well, if you think you’ll be fine on your own…” He turned to leave. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime soon. Goodbye, young one.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Spikehead”, the hollowhorn called after him.
Mr. Spikehead headed back to where his meal had been. That Hooter was a strange one, he thought to himself. He just hoped that he could take care of himself on his own. He reached his food, and looked back. Now, instead of leaping for the tree, Hooter was hurling large rocks at the tree, missing with every shot, and, by the sound of it, hitting others grazing in the forests. Mr. Spikehead watched as Hooter threw another rock, only for it to bounce back off the trunk of the tree and hit him clear on the head. Mr. Spikehead rolled his eyes in frustration, and turned back to his meal, taking two bites before curiosity and a shout made him turn back. Looking again, he saw that Hooter had gotten back up and was attempting it again, this time with larger rocks. Enough was enough. This hatchling was either going to hurt himself or someone else in his determination to eat from that tree. Mr. Spikehead not so much walked as ran over to where Hooter was preparing to toss a pointed fragment of stone at the tree. Hooter looked up as he arrived. “Mr. Spikehead! Is something wrong?”
Mr. Spikehead paused for breath. “Look, young one, you clearly need some help gathering food. I’ve seen you try and fail to eat from that branch at least twenty times now. You can’t do this alone. You need a teacher, Hooter. I’ll…” he hesitated. Did he really want to be saddled with this confused young hollowhorn? He sighed. “I’ll…teach you some foraging tricks. Just until you get back on your feet.”
“Really? Well, thanks, Mr. Spiketail.” Hooter said. “Um, could I start learning now? I haven’t had anything to eat all morning”.
Mr. Spikehead sighed. “I guess. Come on then, follow me.” He started heading towards the forest. Hooter caught up, and walked beside him. Mr. Spiketail began talking about the different types of trees, and the best way to get the leaves off them. Hooter couldn’t help but smile, knowing that for the time being, he had someone looking out for him.
“Mr. Spikehead?”
He turned to face Hooter. “Yes?”
Hooter smiled at him. “Thanks. For everything.”
Mr. Spikehead couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s nothing, young one, nothing at all. Now, back to the subject at hand. See here, this tree is known for its large amounts of…” His voice trailed off, unheard by the others grazing in the fields, as he and Hooter headed deeper into the forests.
*
(Throw another area here, after the return. It is nearly evening, and Spikehead tells Hooter to return each day for a while, and he’ll teach more. He has softened towards Hooter. Hooter thanks him and heads off. Spikehead thinks to himself. )
For once, Mr. Spikehead was wrong about something. The short times spent teaching Hooter
Helped to reignite his . He hadn’t realised how much he had missed having a (protÈgÈ).
Chapter Five:
Synopsis: We return to the spiketail telling the story. As he concludes the previous chapter, one of the duckbills asks whether Hooter ever remembered anything else. The spike-tail pauses to remember, and then starts the next part. Five years have passed; it is spring. Hooter has grown up, now twice Mr. Spikehead’s size and fully adapted to life in the Great Valley. He and Mr. Spikehead are discussing the spring, and other such things. Mr. Spikehead leaves to get some of his preferred greens from the other side of the river, and Hooter bids him farewell. Hooter then thinks about how good life has been lately, and continues to graze. All of a sudden, something about his grazing seems familiar. As he wonders why, more memories start rushing back, and suddenly Hooter remembers his family, and them travelling together, and he almost remembers his name. Mr Spikehead comes over, snapping him out of his stupor, and asks if he is alright. Hooter says he is fine, and the two head off together. As they walk away, Mr. Spikehead asks Hooter what happened, and Hooter tells him he just remembered a good memory, while thinking to himself that he knows his family existed, and that is good enough for now. They walk off, and the narration returns to the spiketail telling stories. He tells us that Hooter remained in the valley, and Mr. Spikehead passed away the following spring, but he notes that the story didn’t end there. The duckbills ask to hear the rest of the story, which he starts by telling them that it took place several years later, during the time of the great journeying.
The warm times had passed, and already the tree-stars were beginning to lose their colour, signalling the arrival of the cold times.
“Race you to the sheltering grass, eh oldtimer?”
Mr. Spikehead got to his feet. “I’ve still got a few years left in me”.
Mr. Spikehead moved his legs forwards and started to lift himself up. After a moment, he groaned and his legs gave way, sending him falling to the ground. Hooter was beside him in a second. “Spikehead! Are you alright?”
His elderly friend opened an eye and looked at him. “I’m fine.” He said. “It just seems that age has caught up with me, as it usually does when one reaches my age.” He chuckled. Hooter was still nervous. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
The elderly dinosaur picked himself up off the ground. “Of course I am. I’ve still got a few years left in me.” He paused once standing. “I just might need a moment to regain my composure. You run on ahead, I’ll meet you at the grasses.”
(Memory scene goes here)
“Hooter?” A voice suddenly snapped him out of his trance, returning him to reality. Looking around for the source of the voice, he saw Mr. Spikehead was standing behind him, a worried look on his face. “Are you alright,
(Walk off together)
“You know, you never did tell me how you got that nickname.”
“Ohh…it happened long ago. (fade)
*
Mr Spikehead’s words were truthful. He and Hooter shared adventures in the valley for many more (years), until one
And Mr. Spikehead passed with the cold times. Hooter continued on without his mentor, although he never forgot the kindly actions of the elderly (styracosaur).
(Note: The following synopsis was originally the next chapter, but I cut it because it had little relevance to the story, other than to show the arrival of the main cast of Land Before Time in the Great Valley. Had I finished it, I would have posted this separately as a short story.)
Synopsis: Hooter is searching the undergrowth for objects of interest. Engrossed in the bizarre shape of a stick he has found, he is distracted by the noise of a nearby bellow. Moving through the bushes, he sees that an entire herd of far-walkers have arrived. He heads over to them, where many walk past, heading for food. He attempts to greet a threehorn, but the threehorn shouts and angrily butts him out of the way. Picking himself up, he is greeted by two elderly longnecks, who apologise for the threehorn’s actions, and explain that he lost his family in their exodus, and that they also have lost their only child and her son. Hooter expresses sympathy, and explains that he lost his herd, but when they enquire about them, he tells them that he doesn’t remember, and he mentions that he was brought up in the valley by an elderly dinosaur, Mr. Spikehead, who is now deceased. They express sympathy, and he recounts one of his mentor’s lines, attributing it to their current situation. They then continue on their way, Hooter offering to take them to the river. The narration resumes, and sure enough, Mr. Spikehead’s words were right; Hooter’s grazing is interrupted by the happy yells of several hatchlings believed lost who made it to the valley reuniting with their parents. He briefly remembers his own childhood, and the elderly dinosaur that helped him through it. Satisfied, he returns to his dinner.
Chapter Six:
Synopsis: Three years have passed. Hooter is again grazing in a field, watching the actions of the many herds and their hatchlings, when a hollowhorn shout signifies new arrivals to the valley. He is initially uninterested; greeting herds was a pastime of Mr. Spikehead, not his, and he stopped checking herds for family members long ago, but he is in the area, so he heads over to meet them. Most of the migrators are far-walkers who are stopping to forage before heading on their way. Hooter keeps an eye out for any hollowhorns, in case they could be a member of his family, but Hooter has had no luck, and moves away from the fraternising herds. A flyer travelling with the herd, Terro, strikes up a conversation with him, mentioning how he normally travels from place to place, making friends along the way, and he asks Hooter if he has any relatives. Hooter explains that he has no recollection of his past, and only knows that he escaped a sharptooth attack before he lost his memory. Terro is intrigued, as he has heard a story of a wandering hollowhorn herd that suffered casualties near the Great Valley, but mostly survived, and made it to another valley. Hooter is shocked to realise that his family could be alive, and Terro offers to guide him to the other valley.
Chapter Seven:
Synopsis: Hooter and Terro are travelling through the Mysterious Beyond. The valley they seek lies to the north. Terro entertains Hooter with stories of his exploits, and mentions the sights he has seen. Hooter eventually grows weary of the travelling, and Terro points out a rest point. They stop and enter a small valley to eat and rest. They are interrupted unexpectedly by the presence of sharpteeth. Terro takes to the air, and Hooter is left to fight. He manages to beat a few, and then starts to lose, with several managing to wound him. He collapses, with the lead fast biter heading in for the kill. Before he can, a rock falls from the sky, knocking out the fast biter. Above, Terro calls out, signalling a ledge above. Hooter picks himself up, and clambers up to the ledge; Terro attacking any fast biter that tries to follow. At the top, Hooter kicks an outpost of rock which breaks free, sending the remaining fast biters tumbling and destroying their route up. Hooter collapses from exhaustion. Terro attempts to get him to stand up, failing, but Hooter sees another valley in the distance. Recognising it as their destination, Terro says that he will get help, and flies off to it. Hooter watches him disappear into the distance, and then loses consciousness.
Something wasn’t right.
Terro stood silent
He moved closer, and saw what it was that had alarmed him. Ahead of both of them, lying on a raised outpost of land, were the remains of a long-dead hollowhorn. Its skeleton lay oddly sprawled over several rocks, as if it had fallen from a large height, before being eaten by something. Eaten.
Hooter suddenly felt uneasy. Terro’s voice broke the silence. “We’re in a sharptooth nest.” He whispered “Look.” He pointed towards the edge of the canyon. Lining the mountain walls that made up the canyons were bones. This supposedly “safe place” was a death trap. He started backing away, and tripped over a rock, which he then realised, was in fact, not a rock, but a skull. He leapt away from it, yelping in fear as he did. Terro leapt at him, and placed a hand over his mouth. “Don’t panic!” Terro hissed at Hooter, as terrified as him. “They’ll hear us. You’ll doom us both!” They both paused, listening for any voices other than their own. Hearing nothing, Terro turned back to face Hooter. “Quickly now, let’s carefully and quietly move to the exit.” Hooter nodded, before slowly getting up and tracing his steps back to the entrance of the canyon. Terro flew beside him, as they cautiously made their way out of the valley.
After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the rocky path that made up the entrance to the valley. Hooter breathed a sigh of relief. “We made it.” Terro was less sure. “It’s too quiet…”
A rock abruptly fell from the heights and clattered behind them. Hooter and Terro both cried out in fear, turning around to face the hordes of sharpteeth with razor sharp claws that were no doubt pouring out of the hills surrounding them…
Nothing. The canyon was empty. All was silent apart from the noise of the dislodged rock still echoing around them. Hooter and Terro, both breathing quickly, turned to face each other, and weakly laughed.
(Terro says something, and then lots of raptors appear! Terro flees, and Hooter struggles to avoid the raptors)
He looked up towards where the rock had fallen from. Terro! The flyer was perched on a (ledge, high above him). He looked over the edge. The sharpteeth were leaping over each other, hurrying to get out of the path of the falling rock.
(Hooter climbs to safety, causing a rockfall to slow the raptors)
Hooter stood tall. “Well then, that’s that.” Then he collapsed, falling roughly to the ground. Terro ran to his side.
“Hooter! HOOTER!” There was no response. “C’mon, don’t die on me! Not now!” Terro tried to get Hooter to stand up, but the hollowhorn was too heavy for the flyer to budge. He gave up, and ran to where Hooter’s face lay, cushioned in the dirt. Terro lifted his head up and tried to rouse the dazed hollowhorn. “Get up! Look! Over there!” Hooter, nearly unconscious, struggled to open his eyes. Opening them, he saw a bleak landscape, peppered with rocks. Visible in the distance was a valley, almost isolated in the desert that surrounded it. Terro’s face suddenly filled his vision.
“We’re nearly there! We’re almost there! Don’t stop now!”
Hooter, exhausted from all his injuries, could do little more than scrabble weakly on the ground. “I…I…can’t move…need…rest…”
Terro looked at the valley, and then back at him. “I’ll go there. Now. And I’ll get help.” He turned and leapt off the cliff, opening his wings as he did and catching the wind. “I’ll tell them you’re here, Hooter,” the flyer shouted, as he disappeared into the distance. “I’ll bring them back!”
Hooter watched him as he vanished from sight. Then the exhaustion and his wounds overcame him, and he lay back down on the dirt, drifting off into a dangerous sleep.
Chapter Eight:
Synopsis: Hooter is plagued by a surreal dream, which he is awakened from by the sounds of snarling. Willing himself awake, he finds himself staring into the jaws of a drooling sharptooth, who followed his scent. He flees, rushing down the other side of the ledge, into a rocky area. The sharptooth follows, and proceeds to corner him. Before anything can happen, a scarred hollowhorn arrives and head-butts the sharptooth, knocking it over. The new hollowhorn points Hooter towards a safe route, before turning to face the angry sharptooth. Hooter rushes for cover, and watches as the hollowhorn outwits the sharptooth. The sharptooth then savagely bites the leg of the hollowhorn, sending him falling to the ground. Hooter rushes to the aid of the hollowhorn, and attempts to attack the sharptooth. He fails, and the sharptooth instead hurls him to the side, where his head hits rock with a loud crack, and he lies limply. The distraction has worked, and the new hollowhorn has time to goad the sharptooth towards an overhang of rock, which he then tricks it into hitting. The rock crashes down on the sharptooth’s head, knocking it unconscious. He then turns to the unconscious figure of Hooter, who isn’t moving.
(Hooter cornered by sharptooth)
“HERE!”
The sharptooth stopped, and looked to the side in confusion. A hollowhorn suddenly appeared out of a gap in the mountains and headbutted its leg, knocking it off-balance and causing it to topple onto its side. Hooter got up and looked at the newcomer, now rushing towards him. He was (), (), and had a set of vicious-looking scars along his face. Hooter called out. “Who are yo…”
“There’s no time!” the new hollowhorn shouted. “Run! That way!” he said, indicating a rocky passage through the mountains to his right. He had no time to argue with the newcomer, for behind him the sharptooth had got to his feet. The newcomer must have realised this, because he turned to face it. Hooter struggled to his feet, and looked back at his rescuer. “But what about...”
“Just GO!” The other hollowhorn kicked him away with his back leg, and Hooter ran towards the gap in the rocks. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of roaring. The battle had begun.
Reaching the gap, Hooter turned and ducked behind one of the boulders that were scattered throughout it, and watched the hollowhorn ease away from the sharptooth.
Whenever it looked like the hollowhorn was in danger, he would suddenly duck to one side and the (sharptooth would rush towards the rocky mountain wall).
Chapter Nine:
Synopsis: Hooter fades in and out of a strange vision, seeing flashing lights, disjointed memories, and hearing voices. Slowly, something in him stirs, and he starts to regain consciousness. As he does, memories rush back to him. Everything returns, and he suddenly knows who he is, who his family was, and how he got to the valley. He awakes, and sees the face of the strange hollowhorn above him. He recognises the face; it is his brother Rolo, who survived the attack that separated them, now much older. Both filled with joy, he and his brother embrace. His brother asks what happened to him, and Hooter explains his story; he lost his memories upon fleeing, and he was cared for by an elderly dinosaur until he heard of his family from far-walkers. Rolo then tells him that his herd mostly survived and regrouped, finding the survivors in the surrounding areas and counting the dead, but they never found him. They were forced to move on, until they found a safe place. They didn’t stop wondering about him, and they asked visitors to their valley if they had seen him. Now, with their father elderly, Rolo explains that he is the leader of their herd, and when Terro came to him with news of Hooter, he rushed to his aid. He then says he will take Hooter, or Parry, back to the valley where their herd resides. Hooter has several wounds, and Rolo’s leg is injured, but they both head off, not noticing the sharptooth behind them beginning to stir.
“And what happened to Terro?”
“Terro?” Rolo looked confused. “Do you mean that flyer? He’s still at the valley, as far as I know. He flew in there babbling about a wounded hollowhorn. It wasn’t until Phus recognised him from a group of far-walkers that had recently visited that we started to get any information out of him. By the time he’d managed to tell us where you were, he was too exhausted to do anything else, and I had to come and find you.”
“Phus?” said Parry, recognising a name in his brother’s story, and slowly remembering his (pranky) cousin. “He survived, then?”
“Survived? Of course he did!” Rolo said “Most of us survived, we
Chapter Ten:
Synopsis: Hooter and Rolo continue to the new valley, Rolo pointing out the landmarks that guide their way. Rolo briefly detours them both to an oasis, where they both drink and snack on some of the shrubbery, Rolo resting his leg in the lake. Hooter asks about the oasis, and Rolo says it is where their herd stopped on their way, and points Hooter to a rock, inscribed with a scratched image of a hollowhorn. Rolo tells Hooter that his younger sister carved it when they arrived, in case he was truly dead. Hooter stops to look at it, and has a moment. Rolo tells him to look up, and he does. In the distance is a gap in a rocky wall. Rolo explains that their sister then looked up and found their new home. He then beckons to his brother, who looks at it for a while, before continuing. Time passes, they have made it to the valley entrance; a rocky chasm between two mountains. Rolo mentions that the area is vaguely unstable, and starts to point the safe route, when they are interrupted by a roar behind them. The sharptooth has recovered, and is hot on their trail. Rolo tells Hooter to run, and they both do. Rolo is slower because of his weak leg, and, seeing the sharptooth nearly on him, turns to try and fight it. Hooter turns around, and sees that his brother is fighting the sharptooth. He pauses, and then returns to help. Rolo, still fighting for his life, manages to hold the sharptooth off, but his weak leg causes him to stumble, and the sharptooth manages to savagely bite him. Before it can deliver the final blow, several rocks hit the sharptooth’s head. Hooter is throwing rocks at it, using the technique Mr. Spikehead taught him. The sharptooth abandons Rolo, and chases after Hooter, who hadn’t planned on that happening. Hooter leaps to the side, and the sharptooth hits rock, causing a small landslide. Recalling what his brother said about the weak mountains, Hooter goads the sharptooth into following him into a dangerous area. It follows, but Hooter is overconfident and fails to see the dip ahead of him. He falls, and crashes at the foot of the mount. Struggling to get up, the sharptooth takes a large bite into of his arm and bicep. With his last strength, Hooter kicks the mountain wall with his feet. Rocks come tumbling down, burying Hooter and crushing the sharptooth completely. After a moment, Hooter emerges with an injured arm, shielded from the rubble by the sharptooth’s corpse. He makes his way over to Rolo, who is fatally wounded. Rolo points the safe route to the valley, and then expires. Hooter sadly turns away, and makes his way to the valley, emerging on an outpost. He pauses, and then starts down the cliff into the valley.
(Hooter hesitates as he looks over the new valley, unsure of what to do.)
Faces from throughout his life flew past him in his mind. His brother, Rolo. Terro. Mr. Spikehead. The many herds of the Great Valley. Disjointed memories of a family that now lay somewhere below him. And one face, from a time far further back than the rest, whose words now echoed in his head. “Memories tie us to our old nests. Home is wherever you choose it to be.” (He smiles, things finally feel right).
With that, he smiled, and descended into the valley below, to finally meet his destiny, and
Epilogue:
“…and so Hooter, or Parry, as his real name was, after years of not knowing anything about himself or his family, finally found where they were, and was reunited with them after so long. And he lived happily ever after. The End.”
“But why didn’t he stay there?” One of the duckbills had spoken up. The spiketail paused. “What do you mean?”
“We saw him here, earlier tonight! I thought you said he stayed at the other valley.”
“He did stay there, for a while. He didn’t return until at least ten of the cold times had passed. Then one day, just as the tree-sweets were beginning to bloom, he turned up on the outskirts of the valley with that huge scar on his arm. He never said why he came back. But he’s been here ever since.” The spiketail paused; the youngsters were still confused. Another duckbill spoke up. “But why would he leave his family?”
“Well…” The spiketail stopped. He wasn’t actually sure himself. “Well, some do, when they are old enough.” The spiketail explained. “He may be in a different place than them, but he still loves them.” And, although he didn’t say it, the spiketail knew he still kept in contact. He had seen Hooter talking with an elderly flyer and giving him messages, back when the last herd of farwalkers had entered the valley. But the story was long enough without adding that on the end.
A noise interrupted the silence, and the bushes behind them rustled and parted behind them as a tall duckbill walked through to where they were all sitting. As he entered, the youngsters all yelled “Daddy!”, and rushed over to him.
“Well, did your uncle tell you a good story?” their father asked. The youngsters crowded round for attention, each shouting out the part of the story that had either excited or scared them the most. Their father grinned. “Well, it’s clear you all had a good time. But I think it’s time for you young ones to sleep. Say goodnight to your uncle.”
“Awww.” The duckbills groaned. “We have to go now,” one of the duckbills said. “Thanks for telling us the story, uncle Spike.”
The spiketail smiled. “It was my pleasure, young ones.” He watched as one by one, each of the duckbills followed their father back to their nest by the river, until no-one was left but the young spiketail, who had slept through the entire story. Spike walked over to his son, and roused him from his sleep. He yawned, and started to wake up. Spike smiled.
A new voice suddenly called from the forest. “Spike? Are you still there?” The bushes rustled as someone moved through them. Spike called back. “I’m still here, Ducky.”
A mother bigmouth emerged from the bushes
She laughed. “I guess some things never change. Goodnight, Spike.” “Goodnight, Ducky.”
She nuzzled him lovingly, then turned and headed towards her children’s nest. Spike watched her walk away.
“Dad? What happened?” Spike turned around to see his son yawning behind him.
“Well, first we went round to see your cousins, and I told you all a story. Don’t you remember?”
“I guess I slept through most of it.” He yawned. “Can you tell me the story again?”
Spike sighed. “Maybe another time. I need some rest myself. And maybe a few tree-stars.” Father and son then walked off towards their nest, the light of the great night circle illuminating their path home.
And that is what I managed to write. I also had an idea for an extra scene that would go here, where the duckbills would see a well-tended but empty nest containing shining rocks, showing that Hooter takes the time to make sure his old friend’s nest won’t be destroyed, but that would have gone on too long.
