Free In Search of the Alter Dom by Jack Challis Page B

jump – but not the largest Matriarch – she picked up a stone and began to sharpen her blade!
    ‘That does it!’ Blodwyn rages – jumping to her feet and grabbing her staff, ‘you are not carving me up!’ She lunged forward and gave the large Matriarch a sharp jab in the ribs. The Matriarch Bitch-Rill gave out a high-pitched shriek of pain: piercing the silent gloom. The Matriarch bared her teeth at Blodwyn – her tattered ears pinned back in anger!
    Blodwyn quickly glanced around for the Lings, “When would they come?” The female Rills kept edging closer – shuffling on clawed feet!
    Blodwyn jabbed again with all her strength. This time the large Matriarch was ready. Nimbly dodging the stick – she took a large bite from the staff. After a dozen jabs – Blodwyn’s staff was bitten to shreds!
    Blodwyn realized she had underestimated these relentless, repulsive rodents. The situation was now serious! Picking up the long, heavy metal torch, she switched it on – the powerful beam sent the Bitch Rills scurrying backwards. Blodwyn could now clearly see the Rills’ greedy intent eyes; reflecting red in the torchlight!
    These overgrown rats were not used to this kind of resistance from an intended victim! ‘I am not ending up in your rusty cauldrons!’ Blodwyn shouts defiantly. The female Rills stopped their whispering and gathered in conference, casting occasional looks in her direction.
    Blodwyn strained her ears; what she heard was frightening. ‘Attack, hamstring – butcher – our males be hungry!’ Blodwyn knew that every second she could delay the female Rills was precious. The two Lings had to be back soon – her life depended on it! Then a horrible thought crossed her mind. “What if they were not coming back? Would she end up a pile of bones, scattered around her tattered rucksack – framed within a dark stain!”
    Blodwyn pushed these negative thoughts from her mind – keeping her torch beam on the scheming Rills, Blodwyn began to gather as many small rocks as possible: piling them at her feet.
    Conference over, the female Rills regrouped; this time holding their rusty cauldrons up as shields as they advanced, a determined look in their popping, beady eyes. Volleys of small rocks met the female Rills. She soon found out Rills have the reflexes of a polecat! Most of the rocks were dodged with great agility; the cauldron shields deflected others. Blodwyn’s supplies of rocks were quickly used up. “What next?”

    Underground the Bitch Rills’ lords and masters, the Dog-Rills , sprawled in their burrows boasting of past warlike deeds. These braggarts and ‘ner-do-wells’ were becoming impatient – they were looking forward to tender, furless Terasil meat – fresh Terasil’s tracks, had been spotted that very day.
    ‘Captain Bart,’ says one of their number, ‘pray send out scouts to help our useless bitches – I grow sick of supping on cats and dogs. We lost the last Terasil – to the Rills from the burrow of Cheap-side.’
    ‘Silence!’ replies the largest of their number – the Dog - Rill Blodwyn had met! Blodwyn’s ploy had worked – Captain Bart craved a powdered wig more than Terasil flesh! He had sent his bitch the large Matriarch, purposely in the wrong direction. The ringing mobile had led the female Rills to Blodwyn’s scent trail!

    Back on the surface: Blodwyn decided to try communicating with the female Rills – only to gain precious time! ‘What do you want?’ she asks.
    The large Matriarch regarded Blodwyn with popping eyes, while scratching her protruding navel. ‘To fill our cauldrons answers I,’ replies the Matriarch. ‘Will you help us – and die quickly?’ The other females sniggered: gnashing their teeth excitedly. Blodwyn’s mind raced: she had to buy time. She took out her tin whistle and quickly struck up a lively Irish jig. The Bitch-Rills stopped their scheming and intently listened to the music. Some of the smaller females started to tap their