The creature foraged, staying well-hidden beneath the undergrowth, turning up nothing but dried leaves and half-rotten berries. It wasn’t adequate, but to venture out from under the shade of the bushes would have drawn the attention of the Fur-Lizards.

The animal’s legs were stumpy, it's body, long, and muscly.

This served the beast well in the water, where he could swim as fast as any Cutter-Eel but he would never be able to outrun the lizards, who would hunt him the moment they spied him.

At dusk, when the sweaty smell of the Brown Moss had died away, the creature would leave the sanctuary of his borrow and shuffle over to the banks of the river where he could enjoy the coolness of the mud squelching between his claws, and hopefully, turn up something a little juicier to eat in the wet soil, a Nut Worm, or Copper-Weed Snail, perhaps.

The animal had been busy pressing his flat nose into the earth, ploughing small furrows in the mud, when he was suddenly startled.

The panicked scatter of birds vacating the trees alerted the beast to the otherwise silent approach of a Fur-Lizard who had appeared at the edge of the clearing.

Another faint outline, drawn by light of moon, could just about be discerned in the bushes. The mass appeared to shift its weight as it ducked its head slightly to draw in the scent.

Twitching, the animal sensed the presence of the other lizards lurking in the dark spaces of the Forest that surrounded him.

All were caught in the suspenseful hush before the unleashing of a battle, precipitating a great convulsion of chaos, frenzy, ferocity and fear.

It was then the Fint grew his wings.

Two entirely new sets of bone structures grew out of his shoulders and a semi-transparent membrane formed over the young, exposed bones.  This supple new skin was edged with a surprise of creamy gold that reflected the moonlight as he flew away. All Fints were born with wings after that, and the Fur-Lizards never tasted a Fint again.

By Robyn Hunt (c) 2020