Free The Dragon of Avalon by T. A. Barron Page B

realized that something had drastically changed. He wasn't moving anymore! This ledge, protruding upward from the slope, reached above the chaos of shifting rocks. It was, in fact, a rare island of stability in this stormy sea. Could it be that his luck had finally turned?
    That was when he noticed the moving shadow. It darkened the ledge, covering him swiftly. Basil looked up—and saw an enormous, jagged-edged boulder falling straight at him. Frozen with fear, he watched the boulder drop closer, closer. In another heartbeat he would be completely crushed.
    A swooshing sound—and something grabbed Basil by the tail, plucking him off the ledge. An instant later, the boulder smashed down. Fragments of rock exploded, bursting from the spot where he'd just been, filling the air with dust.
    Basil, now gliding above the mountainside, knew he'd been saved. By what? Another hungry predator who didn't want a tasty little meal to go to waste? Expecting to find a fierce dactylbird, or a vulture perhaps, he bent his body to see what held him by the tail.
    A hand! The small but sturdy hand of a round-bodied sprite grasped Basil firmly. Seeing the mass of silver threads that billowed above them, forming a parachute, he remembered hearing crows chatter about pinnacle sprites, solitary little people who lived in the highest peaks of Stoneroot, floating casually from ridge to ridge on parachutes they could produce from their backs at will. Looking into the smooth, beardless face of this particular sprite—which, like the rest of his body, was an angry shade of purple—Basil surmised that he was very young. And very grumpy.
    "Hmmmpff," grumbled the sprite as he glanced down at his catch. "I save your life and all you can do is stare? Rude little beast! Didn't they ever teach you any manners in lizard school?"
    "I'm not a lizard," answered Basil, feeling a bit grumpy himself.
    "Well then, bat school."
    "I'm not a bat."
    The sprite, whose long hair fluttered as they sailed above the boulders, peered closely at Basil. "Hmmmpff, what in Dagda's name are you, then?"
    Seconds passed, while an updraft filled the parachute, carrying them higher. At last, Basil shook his head and said, "I'm—I—I'm . . ."
    "A stutterer, I see," growled the sprite. Although his voice sounded as gruff as ever, his skin color changed a little, softening to lavender with a few swirls of gray.
    Finally, Basil completed his sentence, whispering just loud enough to be heard above the wind that ruffled the parachute: "I really don't know what I am."
    "Hmmmpff. Maybe you're telling the truth, maybe not. Or maybe you're just plain stupid as well as rude."
    Even though he was dangling by his tail, Basil arched his body so that his face drew near to the sprite's. Glowering, he said, "Rude, maybe. But stupid? No, that word belongs to somebody who's easily fooled."
    "Right," sneered the sprite, turning an amused shade of orange. "Somebody like y—"
    He broke off suddenly, catching the pungent odor of a goblin vulture, whose talons often smelled of rotting carrion. The sprite's color instantly went white. He whirled around in midair, tangling his own leg in the strings of his parachute. As he tried to pull his leg free, the chute collapsed. He started plunging toward the rock-strewn slope, taking Basil with him.
    For seconds that seemed like hours, they dropped downward. Basil tried to free himself from the sprite's grip, but to no avail; in his panic, the sprite only squeezed harder. Locked together, they fell toward the boulders, faster and faster.
    At last, the sprite managed to free his leg. With a desperate lurch, he threw his weight sideways. A loud whomp! announced the chute had filled again with air. A fresh updraft from the mountainside carried them higher once more.
    Having stopped their free fall, the sprite still didn't relax. He cast his head anxiously from side to side, staring into the sky around them. His liquid purple eyes seemed about to pop out of his