“Hel-l-l-l-p!”
Thutter’s cry echoed off the banks of the creek as his friends looked on in horror.
“I’m coming! Hold on, Thutter!” From the Glade side of the creek, Scruffy slid down the bank. He dodged most of the obstacles in his path, but an unseen root sent him tumbling pell-mell to the water’s edge.
Once the mouse was back on his feet, Patch hollered down to him, “Do you see him, Scruff?”
“Not yet!” came the reply as the mouse scanned the dark waters where Thutter had entered.
A moment later, some curious movement caught Scruffy’s eye. “Wait!” he hollered. “I think I see something!”
“Is it Thutter?” called Patch.
“I don’t know! All I see are bubbles—and they’re getting bigger.”
The words had barely left Scruffy’s mouth when something else appeared in the middle of the creek, something small and round. It broke the surface but only for a second. Scruffy’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where it disappeared, and a moment later, something else appeared. The mouse instantly recognized the tiny ears and thoroughly drenched muzzle of his little friend.
But something wasn’t right.
“Thutter?”
Scruffy spoke under his breath. He expected to see the little shrew bobbing or swimming along the water’s surface—not moving upright across it as if he were running on land.
Meanwhile, desperate for good news, Patch again called down, “What’s happening? Talk to us, Scruff!”
Before Scruffy could answer, a large, dark circle appeared in the water just under the shrew. The mouse stared hard. At first, Scruffy thought it was a really large shadow of some kind, but soon he was putting it all together. Young Thutter McClutter was unwillingly, and maybe unknowingly, hitching a ride to the far bank on the back of a most unlikely taxi—a soft-shelled turtle.
The shrew would later explain that after hitting the surface he just kept falling through the murky water until he was suddenly sitting on what felt like a rock—a rock that was moving straight up toward the surface.
The mole and the woodrat, from their perch high atop the creek bank, could hardly believe their eyes. The large shell and pointed beak of the turtle surfaced along the water’s edge as they watched. Then, upon crawling onto the beach, the reptile gently tilted to one side, allowing Thutter to slide off onto the soft mud.
“Wh-what happened? Where am I?” asked the shrew, half-dazed.
“It’s okay-dokay there, little buddy-uddy!” came a strange, unexpected voice. “You jes’ fell offa da bridgy-ridgy.”
Thutter heard the bizarre voice with the droopy burr, but he couldn’t make out a face. The turtle continued, “So, uh … what’s your name-same there, my little friendy-endy?”
“Um, uh … Thutter,” replied the groggy shrew, who by now could see his rescuer more clearly. “Wh-who are you?”
“Name’s Tonker, but my friendy-endies…well, they jes’ call me Tonks!”
Thutter rubbed his drenched muzzle between his paws. “All I remember is that awfully bright glow and … and that…that terrible sound.”
“Well, that’s the mighty dragon-agon. The great fire-breathin’, rip-roarin’, wind-sailin’ sky beastie-eastie! He only leaves once in a great while-hile!”
“Leaves? What d’ya mean!” asked Thutter.
“Well, you see-see, the ol’ beastie-eastie only goes up-pup now and then-hen!”
Just then, Patch and Plumpkin arrived on the scene, muddied and breathless. “Thutter! Y’alright?” cried Patch. “I thought you had—”
“Drowned?” finished Thutter. “No, no I’m okay…thanks to Tonks here. He saved my life!”
With the shrew’s energy clearly returning, the turtle felt relief. “Ah, it was nuthin’-uthin’, you little squirt-twirt,” he said.
“No, Thutter’s right, mister,” said Patch. “You saved my friend’s life.”
Having waited for his chance to speak, Plumpkin looked over at the turtle and said, “Say … uh, Tonker, is it?”
Finding the rat with his eyes, Tonks nodded and then said, “I guess I didn’t-idn’t get yer name-same there, sir-fur!”
“Oh, I’m Plumpkin,” bellowed the rodent. “And I was jes’ wonderin’ if you might know which path leads to the ol’ levee. You know, the one that takes you over to the Sea Swamp—from the Salt Marsh here?”
Tonks wouldn’t have a chance to answer the rat as Scruffy, who had crossed the bridge unnoticed and quietly slid down the bank, suddenly appeared above the shivering shrew and began babbling frantically. “Thutter, you alright? You hurt anywhere? How’s your head? Anything broken?” Then, seeing the shrew smile, the mouse added, “You’re scared me half to death, kid!”
“I’m okay, Scruff!” said Thutter, before nodding toward the turtle and continuing. “This fella rescued me. His name is Tonker.”
“Well, much obliged there, Tonker!” said the mouse, glancing quickly in the turtle’s direction. “But we better be on our way.” Then, looking back over at Thutter, he added, “C’mon kid, time to go.”
But as Scruffy turned to make his way back up the bank, Thutter cried, “Wait, Scruff!”
Obliging the shrew, Scruffy looked back. “Tonks—that’s what his friends call him,” continued Thutter, “well, he was just telling me about the Great White Dragon. That’s what that horrible noise was. That’s what made me fall into the creek.”
The shrew looked back over at the turtle and asked, “Have you ever seen ’im, Tonks? Have ya seen the Dragon?” Before tonight, little Thutter had never heard the roar, nor had he seen the fiery smoke of the rocket ship known among the creatures of the Refuge as the Great White Dragon. The last time the Dragon had flown young Thutter McClutter was only a few weeks old.
“Well-ell, I sure have there, little Thutter-utter. I’ve seen it fly-by many-any a-times.” Tonks had lived in the Refuge quite a long time. He’d seen more than his fair share of liftoffs.
By this time, the creek-side rescue and chat had nearly exhausted Scruffy’s patience. Returning his attention to the bank to be climbed, he said, “Great! Alright, we gotta—”
“But I want to know more about the Dragon,” interrupted Thutter.
“Some other time, kid. We gotta go!” And with that, the mouse turned back toward the small hill, which both he and Plumpkin began to climb. The woodrat never did receive an answer from the old turtle about the levee, but he thought it best to stay close to the mouse and to leave Patch and Thutter behind to say goodbye to the soft-shelled rescuer.
“Well, uh, thanks, Tonks. Thanks for savin’ my life,” said the sodden shrew. “I sure hope to see you again sometime.”
As Thutter and Patch followed the path of the others and began their careful negotiation of the slippery bank, Tonks couldn’t help but wonder why these little Glade-dwellers were heading for the dangerous Sea Swamp. He knew as well as anyone that neither the Swamp, nor the Salt Marsh that they’d have to pass through, was a friendly place, especially for a band of defenseless little critters.