Devonshire: Prologue

Prologue

Third person’s POV The sounds of the forest creeped up out of the forest, while in the distance, the sound of rumbling footsteps approached. The rumbling footsteps shook the water in a small pond. Fish flopped, scared by the sudden vibration. Birds and deer fled the area, while lizards and frogs hid stealthily in the undergrowth.

The creature was a Tyrannosaurus rex. He was king of the forest, and no one dared or cared to challenge him. He sniffed out a dead deer. Scents flooded his nostrils.

Just when he thought he had gotten some of the rotting flesh, tragedy struck. He was shot dead by a poacher. Poachers were criminals in Devonshire.

He would pay the price of killing an animal. Someday.

Michelle opened the door to her house. She lived not too far from the King of the Beasts, as she called it. Something’s not right, she thought. The forest caused her senses to be completely in tune with it.

“Gunpowder,” she hissed. “A poacher in my country? I outta kill him. I made the law myself.” She thought aloud. She grabbed her custom rifle and tranq gun and set off to find the poacher herself…

She roamed for a while until she caught a whiff of where the gun had gone off. She loaded the rifle just in case the poacher came back. She didn’t want to be the King’s snack, either. She hadn’t killed an animal purposely in ten years. A Spinosaurus she tried release nearly killed her. He had to be put down with a lethal dose of tranquilizers from a tranq gun. She felt a gaping wound in her heart when she had to put him down. She had broken her own law, a law she instated.

There was no sign of the King. No body in sight. “He lived?” she muttered. “Where did he go?” She looked around of any animal she could speak to, too see if he was in the area.

Nothing.

The forest was silent. Not even a butterfly flit by.

“Dammit,” she cursed. She looked around and noticed blood drops. “This looks fresh.” She knelt down and looked at it more closely. The crimson blood reflected the trees above, signifying that it had just been shed; the crimson liquid had not coagulated completely.

She could sense the poacher. He wasn’t too far away.

She stealthily slinked into some undergrowth. Her body was lithe and lean, small enough to fit into the smallest bushes. She slowed her breathing down. She completely ignored her own body, so she wouldn’t sneeze by accident and reveal herself.

There he was. A large man, with huge muscles and a missing arm. She then realised that King had gotten him. Crimson liquid poured from injuries. She got a tranquiliser dart ready to put him out of his misery, but he succumbed to his injuries; he collapsed onto the ground, sliding down a slight embankment and landing in a pond. The poacher was dead. “Animals of Devonshire could rejoice. One less scum in my country.” She spoke several different animal languages.

Slowly but surely, several species of animals crawled out of their hidey-holes. King stomped towards Michelle. “I’m glad you’re safe.” King let her pet his muzzle. “Please tell me whenever this happens again.” She was lucky to befriend such a dangerous and feral creature. She showed no fear when around him, as she had befriended him when he was just a tiny hatchling, still covered in the bird-like white fuzz. He was five years old, and a fully grown adult male now.

Michelle found the body of the deceased after she had grabbed a spade from her home. She decided to dig a grave, out of respect for the dead, although she did not respect him as a human being.

King growled lowly, speaking softly. “Why must you bury him?”

“Because,” she stated, gulping, “respect for the dead. It’s a human thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.” His golden gaze pierced right through hers. His breath was hot, but relaxed. “I understand humans now. They’re greedy, disgusting, kill for fun and show no remorse.”

Michelle bit her lip to stifle a snigger. “King, you’re right.” She tried her hardest to hold in her laughing. “This is why I made these laws. To protect you, your offspring, and your quarry.” Her eyes glowed. “I must go now King. I must announce this to my friends.”

Just when she was about to turn and walk off, a man approached cautiously. King snarled, but kept his maw closed. The man was scared of King, but kept his distance.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m here to make peace with you,” he replied. He was long and lean, with tanned and weathered skin, dark hair and eyes. Around his waist, he carried a holster with a Colt 1911. The brambles had scratched his arms and legs, as there were several scrapes that were whitened.

“Peace? What is this?” she retorted.

“I was sent by the King himself.”

“King?” she snapped. “The King of Shire, huh?” she questioned. “What kind of peace?”

“I’ll tell you,” he beckoned.

“Come with me,” she ordered. She turned her attentions to King. “Goodbye, King. I’ll be back soon.”

King watched the two humans walk off. He slinked back in the bush, his stomping footprints betraying his location. Michelle walked with the man indignantly. What have I gotten myself into? she thought.