The Feathers of Fire [1st DRAFT]

2. Beanstalk, Cricket, and Slug

                  The smoke thinned out on the East side of the town so I took down my bandana. It seemed that most of the fire had been put out from the wind. The screams persisted, sounding as if three small girls were being tortured. I urged Benito to go faster. We cut down a side street and burst from an alleyway to the scene of the attack. The mangers pack stood crowded together near the opposite building, squatting low to the ground and ready to pounce. Their warped mouths were partially open in a snarl.

                   "Hey!" I yelled at them to get their attention. Crouched in the shadows of a charred building were three human figures, but I just had time to glance at them before the first manger launched itself at Benito. I had to cling to his neck as he reared to prevent myself from falling off. His front hoof struck the manger in the head. It landed in the sand, motionless. A gust of wind rushed through the narrow street and stung my eyes with ash and dust it had picked up. My forehead was beaded with sweat from the fire's heat. I felt sorry for the manger. Getting struck in the head by a horse hoof was not a pretty end.

                 Benito took a few steps back as the rest of mangers approached us. They were rather careful, probably because of the fate of their comrade. All the same they bared their enormous yellow fangs, foaming at the mouth. Their amber eyes were bulging out of their head as if they were dying to bite me, but some invisible barrier was stopping them. Benito stomped around, trying to scare them away. They backed up a bit, but kept their eyes on us.

                   I reached down and drew my pistol from my belt. My pistol was the oldest, most antique thing I owned. The barrel was very long and made of polished wood, though after so many years, it didn't look so polished. The trigger, trigger guard and frame were made from rusty copper, and boy did it smell like it too! The grip was covered in scratchy old leather. Despite all of this I kept it. It was quite useful, but it was also a gift from my papa. This along with my mother's music box I had traded for Benito was one of the few things I'd managed to grab as I fled Restos.

                     I held it up above my head and fired into the sky. The sound was loud and sharp, making the mangers jerk backwards, but they still stood there and snarled with their lopsided jaws open wide.

                     A manger in the front with a missing eye and a leg turned the wrong way crawled forward and pounced. I aimed, pulled the trigger, and killed it in mid air. The body flopped to the ground, dying the sand around it red. The remaining six whimpered nervously then promptly fled. They wove through the flames and out of sight. I sighed with relief then turned to see who exactly I had just wasted my time and energy on.

                      They weren't three little girls. They were three boys, and one of them in fact looked older than me. All three boys stood up cautiously, eyeing my pistol as if they expected me to shoot them if they made any sudden movements. The one in the middle (the one that looked older than me) was extremely tall and skinny. His skin was incredibly pale, his hair was curly and light brown, and his eyes were baby blue. He looked to be about sixteen, two years older than me. The two boys next to him looked much different. They were much shorter, maybe somewhere around ten.

                       They were definitely Mexican. One was thin with scruffy black hair and green eyes, the other was chubby with a buzz cut and dark brown eyes. The two little boys wore nothing but white tank tops and gray basketball shorts. The tall boy wore a faded blue T-shirt and faded jeans that must've been unbearably hot. All three were barefoot, and the fools didn't even have hats, which explained their severely sunburnt faces. Their feet were dirty, calloused and bloody. I felt a twinge of sympathy for them, but it quickly vanished.