Dragons of the Valley Read Online Free PDF Page B

of questions. He felt around his clothing, hoping to locate the hollow bag containing the statue. His movements brought him in contact with the thorny bush, and flower petals showered from above. He stuck out his lower lip and blew upward, dislodging a purple bud from his nose.
    “Where is the hollow with the statue in it?” he asked Maxon.
    “Inside your coat, in the breast pocket.”
    He sighed with relief when his fingers found the soft material of the collapsed bag. But every move he made was accompanied by pokes and scrapes from the surrounding bush.
    “I want out of here,” he said.
    “Easily done.” Maxon scooted backward. “I’ll just get some helpers.”
    Bealomondore scowled at the situation. “If I can’t move to get out, how did you move me to get in?”
    Maxon’s muffled voice drifted through the branches of Bealomondore’s resplendent bower. “Don’t panic now. Just stay still and let Roof and Door do all the work.”
    The ground bubbled below Bealomondore, the dirt churned, something beneath the surface reached through, and he felt himself carried out of the hedge by nubby, malletlike objects. Feet first, he rolled out from under the thorny cascade bush. As soon as he cleared the last branches, he jumped to his feet.
    He whirled around and stared at the ground. The dirt looked like freshly tilled soil on a farm. Hairy fingers wiggled out of the loam. With disgust, Bealomondore realized these had propelled him out of the bower. Dirty palms pushed upward, then thick wrists, long arms, and shoulders. Between the shoulders, a round head perched and wobbled.
    With hands pressing the surface at its sides, the shaggy creature hoisted the lower half of its body clear of the earth. The ground behind the first creature stirred, and another beast emerged.
    “Step back,” warned Maxon.
    Bealomondore almost missed that the order was directed at him, but Maxon’s powerful tug on his trouser leg emphasized the need to move.
    Like wet dogs, both earth creatures squeezed their eyes shut and gave a tremendous shake of their bodies. Clods of dirt sprayed in every direction. Bealomondore and Maxon backed farther away.
    The tumanhofer gasped. “They’re ropmas.”
    “Yes.” Maxon eyed the figures before them. “Are you done shaking?”
    A low, rumbling chortle came from the two as they stretched and shook once more. Smaller bits of dirt, vegetation, even gritty pebbles flew from their woolly coats.
    Bealomondore had never seen a ropma up close. One of the low races, they lived in forests, mountains, and other isolated areas. His fingers itched to pick up a pencil and sketch pad. He wanted a picture to capture the distinctiveness of the two.
    Shaggy fur covered their muscular bodies. Dirt obscured the light color of their coats. They wore no clothing but looked natural and decent, like some huge house pet. In fact, Bealomondore decided the ropmas looked like friendly longhair cats. Big cats, standing on their hind legs.
    Maxon pointed to each ropma. “This is Roof and his brother, Door.”
    The brothers exchanged looks. Then, once again, deep-throated chuckles tumbled out of their smiling mouths.
    “All right then.” Maxon grimaced and reversed the order as he pointed to each one. “That one is Roof, and the other is Door.”
    The ropmas continued their gravelly laugh and bobbed their heads.
    “Thank you,” said Bealomondore, “for getting me out of that hole.”
    The brothers dropped their smiles and looked at each other with concern.
    “Hole?”
    “Hole?”
    They turned to Maxon for an explanation.
    “He doesn’t mean your hole.” Maxon turned his bright eyes on Bealomondore. “They call their homes ‘holes.’ They’re burrowing ropmas, and for them, the word
home
refers to a structure built above ground. So when you said ‘hole,’ they thought you thought you’d been in their home.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, Bealomondore caught movement. He turned his head to see the two brothers