Suzanne Collins - Gregor the Overlander

"To complicate matters, Aurora has a torn wing that must soon be mended if we are to continue," Ares added.

Gregor suddenly realized he was in charge. "Okay, look for a safe place to land, all right?"

The twisting tunnel soon opened out over a large river. The source was a magnificent waterfall that poured out of a stone arch and fell a hundred feet to the river below. Above the arch was a natural stone ledge, about ten feet deep. Ares and Aurora coasted over to it and landed. Their riders slid onto the stone.

Gregor hurried over to Luxa, hoping to figure out some kind of game plan, but one look at her told him he was on his own. Her eyes were unfocused, and she trembled like a leaf. "Luxa? Luxa?" he asked. As Aurora had reported, she couldn't say a word. Not sure what else to do, Gregor wrapped her in a blanket.

He turned to Aurora next. Her left wing had a long rip that oozed blood. "I can try to sew that up," said Gregor, not relishing the idea. He could sew a little, buttons and small tears. The idea of taking a needle to her delicate wing worried him.

"Tend to the others first," said Aurora. She fluttered over to Luxa and wrapped her good wing around the girl.

Boots still slept on Temp's back, but her forehead was cooler. The medicine seemed to have quieted his dad down, too, but Gregor was still unnerved by how fragile he looked. Clearly the rats had half-starved him. He wondered what else they had done.

Ares sat hunched over in a position of such extreme sorrow that Gregor decided it was best to leave him alone. Henry's deception had nearly destroyed the bat.

No one seemed physically injured by their encounter with King Gorger's army except Aurora and himself. Gregor opened the first aid kit and fumbled around inside. If he was going to stitch up the bat, he'd better do it before he thought too much about it. He found a small pack of metal needles and chose one at random. Several spools of spinners' silk were in the kit as well. He started to ask Gox which kind he should use but stopped himself when he remembered the blue blood pouring out over her lifeless orange body. He picked out a thread that looked thin but strong.

He cleaned off Aurora's wound as well as he could and applied an ointment she told him would numb the area* Then, with great trepidation, he began to sew up the rip. He would have liked to move quickly, but it was slow, careful work mending the wing. Aurora tried to sit motionless, but kept reacting to the pain involuntarily.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he kept saying.

"No, I am fine," she would reply. But he could tell it hurt a lot.

By the time he'd finished, he was dripping with sweat from concentrating so hard. But the wing was back in one piece. "Try that out," he said to Aurora, and she gingerly stretched her wing.

"It is well sewn, Overlander," she said. "It should hold to Regalia."

Gregor felt relieved and a little proud he had managed it.

"Now you must address your own wounds," Aurora said. "I cannot fly, anyway, until the numbness leaves my wing."

Gregor washed off his leg and put on some ointment from a red clay pot he remembered Solovet using for wounds. His nose was another matter. He wiped off the blood, but it was still swollen twice its normal size. It was broken, most certainly, but he didn't know what doctors did for a broken nose. You couldn't really put a cast on it. He left it alone, thinking he'd probably do more harm than good trying to fix it.

Once he'd taken care of their injuries, Gregor had no clue what he should do next. He tried to assess their situation. They were lost. They had enough food for maybe one more meal. Luxa's torch had burned out, leaving only his hard hat for light. Boots was sick, his dad was incoherent, Luxa was in shock, Aurora was wounded, and Ares was in despair. That left him and Temp.

"Temp?" said Gregor. "What do you think we should do next?"

"I know not, Overlander," said Temp. "Hear you the rats, hear you?"

"When they fell, you mean?" asked Gregor. "Yeah, that was awful."

"No. Hear you the rats, hear you?" repeated Temp.

"Now?" Gregor felt a cold sickness fill his stomach. "Where?" He crawled out to the edge of the ledge on his stomach and peered out.

Rats were gathering, hundreds of them, on the banks beside the river. Several were sitting back on their haunches, their claws scraping at the chalky stone wall that flanked the waterfall. A couple tried to climb it and slid back to the ground. They began to scrape footholds in the surface. It would take time for them to scale the wall, but Gregor knew they would do it. They would find a way.

He crawled back from the ledge and wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. What were the questers going to do? Well, they would have to fly. Aurora would just have to manage if the rats climbed the wall. But fly where? The light in his hard hat couldn't last forever. Then he'd be in pitch black with a bunch of invalids. Had they gone through this whole nightmare only to end up dying in the Dead Land?

Maybe Vikus would send help. But how would he know where they were? And who knew how things were going in Regalia, anyway? Gregor and Henry had played out the last stanza of "The Prophecy of Gray." But did that mean the humans had won the war? He had no idea.

Gregor squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms into them. He had never felt so desolate in his whole life. He tried to console himself with the idea that "The Prophecy of Gray" had said that eight of them would live. "Well, Ripred will probably manage, but if the seven of us sitting on this ledge are going to survive, we'll need a miracle," he thought.

And that's when the miracle happened.

"Gregor?" said a puzzled voice. He wasn't really sure he'd heard it. "Gregor, is that you?"

Slowly, not willing to believe it, Gregor lifted his eyes toward the sound. His dad had weakly propped himself up onto one elbow. He was shaking from the exertion and his breath was shallow, but there was a look of recognition in his eyes. "Dad?" he said. "Dad?"

"What are you doing here, son?" said his dad, and Gregor knew his mind was clear.

He couldn't move. He should have run into his dad's arms, but he suddenly felt afraid of this stranger dressed in rat skins who was supposed to be his father. Was he really sane now? Or by the time Gregor crawled across the few feet of stone that separated them, would he again be mumbling about fish and abandoning Gregor to the darkness?

"Ge-go!" piped a little voice. "Ge-go, me out!" said Boots. Gregor turned and saw her struggling to free herself from the webbing that secured her to Temp's back. He hurried over to her and ripped away the webs. It was easier than dealing with his dad.

"Drink? Bekfest?" said Boots as he pulled her free. Gregor smiled. If she wanted to eat, she must be better.

"Cookie?" she said hopefully.

"Okay, okay," he said. "But look, look who's here. It's Da-da," said Gregor, pointing to his father. If they went together, maybe Gregor would have the courage to face his dad.

"Da-da?" said Boots curiously. She looked at him, and a big smile spread across her face. "Da-da!" she said. She wiggled out of Gregor's grasp and ran straight into his dad's arms, knocking him flat on his back.

"Margaret?" said his dad, struggling to sit up. "Are you Margaret?"

"No, I Boots!" said the little girl, tugging at his beard.

Well, Boots's courage might only count when she could count, but her ability to love counted all the time. Watching her, Gregor felt his distrust beginning to melt away. He had fought rats and spiders and his own worst fears to reunite with his dad. What was he doing, sitting here like he'd bought a ticket to see the event?

"Boots, huh?" said his dad. He broke into a very rusty laugh.

The laughter swept through Gregor like waves of sunshine. It was him. It really was his dad!