The Legend of Thunderfoot

by Bill Wallace

  Eighteen times the sun rose, then fell behind the mountains to rest in the Great Water, before his mother and father pushed them from the nest. For the next two weeks they brought them very little food. That was because they had to learn to hunt on their own. They watched. Copied their parents. Learned.

  Such a short life! What a waste. I wish they’d given me my name, he thought. Without a name no one will remember me. Without a name, there will be nothing left but dust. Dust to be scattered by the wind and forgotten. I don’t even know if I can get into the Big Desert in the Sky without a name.

  He forced his eyes to open so he could look around. Then he realized he couldn’t even lift his head from the sand. This was it. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

  Chapter 3

  There was a sound. A movement. Something rustling in the dry grass. He opened an eye. It was dark, dark as pitch.

  I must be dead. He opened the other eye. The moon was low in the sky. A few stars twinkled above. Are there stars and a moon in the Big Desert in the Sky? he wondered.

  Somehow he managed to raise his head. He no longer felt sick to his stomach. His legs no longer throbbed. There was a light glow to the east. It was early morning, before the sun climbed to the sky. In the distance he heard a faint, crunching sound.

  He started to stand. The pain shot through his feet. It pulsed and pounded as if any second they would blow up. I’m still alive. When you go to the Big Desert in the Sky, there is no pain. My feet hurt—so I’ve got to be alive.

  The sound came closer. A coyote. No. A coyote would come quicker. Another crunch. Another scrape. A bobcat. They like to sneak up on their prey, and then pounce.

  He tried to stand. Run. But he knew if he did, his feet would explode. Just my luck. The rattlesnake didn’t do me in. Now I’m going to be breakfast for some bobcat.

  He squinted, trying to see into the darkness. The sound was so close that any second he expected to see the tufted, pointy ears, the yellow cat eyes, the sharp teeth. There was nothing. The only thing he could see was a rock. It was smooth as a river stone, so slick that it shined, almost like a pool of water in the moonlight.

  The rock moved. At least he thought it moved. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was imagining it. Then it moved again. Less than an inch at a time, it crept toward him. He never knew anything could move so slowly.

  “Stop!” he said in the meanest clatter he could muster from deep in his throat. “You come any closer and I’ll eat you.”

  The rock stopped. Nearer now, he could see it better. It lay completely motionless for a while. Finally, two clawed feet and a head popped out. They didn’t pop out from beneath the rock. They popped out from inside the rock. Right in the middle. Eyes wide, he leaned his head far to the side. That can’t be. Nothing lives inside a rock. Under a rock, yes. Beside a rock, yes. But not inside a rock. It just can’t be! Maybe I AM dead. Either that or the poison has made me crazy.

  The head reminded him a bit of the rattlesnake. But rattlesnakes don’t have feet. And there were no sharp ridges of scales over the eyes to give the head that evil look of a rattler. Then two more feet popped out from inside the back end of the rock. The head raised and two round eyes looked at him. “I thought you were dead,” the head said. “Figured I’d have to shove my way under you to get to my burrow. Then after a day or so, you’d start stinking so bad I’d have to leave.”

  “I’m not dead yet.”

  “You should be. You got bit by a rattlesnake, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how come you’re not dead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, since you’re not dead—move.”

  “Huh?”

  “Move. So I can get in my burrow.”

  “Burrow? What’s a burrow?”

  “It’s where I live. That hole where you’ve got your tail feathers parked. Now scoot your hind end out of the way so I can get down where it’s cool and shady before the sun climbs to the sky.”

  The roadrunner looked one way, then stretched his neck to look the other. There was no hole. “What hole? I don’t see a hole.”

  “You can’t see it, because you’re sitting on it. Move.”

  The strange rock was inching toward him again. He felt a chill race up his spine to his head crest. “Are you going to eat me?”

  The head drew back, part way into the rock. “Good grief, NO! That’s the nastiest thing I ever heard. I eat flowers and cactus and grass. Only heathens eat meat.”

  Cautiously the roadrunner leaned toward the strange rock. “What are you?”

  The head came farther out. “I’m Berland. I’m a gopher tortoise.”

  “How can you live inside that rock? Isn’t it heavy? Why doesn’t it squash you? And how did you get in there, anyway?”

  The legs drew in and the rock settled back to the ground. “I do not live inside a rock. This is my shell. It grows with me, protects me from danger and from the sun. It goes everyplace I go. It’s probably not much heavier than all them feathers you’re lugging around. It’s part of me.”

  “But how can you—”

  “Look, kid,” Berland cut him off. “Enough with the questions! It’s getting hot out here. Move your rump so I can get home. Then I’ll visit all you want. Just let me inside.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Try”.

  “But my feet hurt and I feel weak.”

  “Fine. I’ll just tunnel under.”

  With that, Berland started digging. His front feet had claws. His legs were strong and flattened—just right for burrowing. Sand and gravel flew in great swoops on either side of the rock . . . er . . . shell.

  The thought of those claws or strong feet whacking his sore toes forced the roadrunner to struggle to his feet. All four toes, on both feet, throbbed. They hurt something fierce. Still weak, his normally strong legs wobbled beneath him. Somehow he managed to stand and take a step. Then another.

  Suddenly Berland stopped burrowing. His eyes popped wide. “Oh! My! Gosh!” In the blink of an eye, his head and feet disappeared inside his shell.

  The roadrunner frowned down at the tortoise. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Ah . . . er . . . nothing.” The muffled sound of Berland’s stammering came from inside his shell. “It’s just . . . well . . . never mind.”

  “Go on,” the roadrunner urged. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand here.”

  Berland waddled behind him. The last thing he saw was the hind legs and a tiny tail disappear into a hole in the ground. If he could just get his feet to move—just take another step or two—he could turn and look at the hole while they talked.

  Suddenly a familiar cooing sound caught his ear. He glanced toward the noise. It was Mama and Daddy. “There he is, Lithe! We found him.”

  Fast as the wind, both rushed toward him. “Where have you been?” Mama scolded with an angry tone. “Young man—you are in so much trouble.”

  “Yesterday was to be your Naming,” Daddy clattered as he raced along beside her. “You’ve been gone all night. You were supposed to . . .”

  Both birds slid to a stop, looking down at their son. Four eyes flashed wide. Their head crests sprang up so straight they almost touched the other’s long beak.

  “Oh! My! Gosh!”

  Chapter 4

  Mama and Daddy agreed that the swelling would go down in a day or two. Even Berland—although he was hard to understand, since his voice came from so deep in the ground—agreed. “Don’t sweat it, kid,” the muffled voice seemed to echo. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  When the young roadrunner had first glanced down to see why everyone was screeching “Oh! My! Gosh!” he felt like throwing up. But since his stomach was empty, all he could do was gag and gasp. He sank to the ground and covered the ghastly-looking things with his feathers. Hiding them, not only from his mother and father, but from his own eyes as well.

  His once strong, handsome feet
looked horrible. They were more than three times bigger than they were supposed to be. They were as round and bulbous as he imagined the limbs of the giant saguaro cactus his father had told him about.

  “Perhaps we could help,” Mama suggested.

  “Yesterday was The Naming,” Daddy said. “The girl was there. Her name shall forever be Sprite of the Foote Clan. The boy was not there for The Naming. It is past time and too late.”

  Mama puffed out her feathers. “But he doesn’t have his name. It’s not too late until he has his name.”

  “Remember the Rule of Nature, Lithe. We cannot break the Rule!”

  There was much talk. Much discussion. They ran a ways to speak in private. Not understanding, and worried, the young roadrunner glanced at the dark hole beside him. “Berland? Berland, you still in there?”

  “I’m here, kid.”

  “Why do Mama and Daddy have to go talk about the Rule? What rule? If they made the Rule, why can’t they break it?”

  “The Rule is not your mother’s or father’s. It’s not even a roadrunner rule. The rule is of Nature itself. For hundreds of years, Nature’s rule of the desert has been unchanged—survive. Only the strong can do this. To break this rule—to tamper with it or change it—could mean disaster.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  A scraping sound came from inside the dark hole. There was movement, crawling. When Berland spoke again, his voice seemed a little louder, clearer.

  “Let’s take you, for instance. With roadrunners, your mother and father fed you when you were little, right?”

  “Well . . . me and my sister—right.”

  “They brought every bite of food to you. You didn’t do anything but sit in your nest and squawk. Then you were fledged.”

  “Fledged?”

  “They shoved you out of the nest.”

  With a sigh, the roadrunner felt his long tail twitch. “I remember that, too.”

  “Didn’t like it, either, did you?”

  “No.”

  There was more scratching and scraping from inside the hole. “You probably squawked and yelled when they didn’t bring food. But you watched them. Saw how they did things. Until finally you figured you could try it yourself.”

  Nodding, the roadrunner preened his wing feathers with his long beak. “I wasn’t very good at it,” he admitted.

  “Not at first,” Berland said, chuckling. “So they helped out a little. But after a while you got better. They didn’t help as much. Hardly brought you anything to eat. You did it for yourself. Up until you had that run in with that baby rattler, I bet you were catching almost everything—all by yourself.”

  The roadrunner felt his chest puff out. “I was doing great! Grasshoppers, lizards, almost had a skink, but his tail broke off, and . . .”

  “And,” Berland helped him out, “then you got bit. You’re weak and hurt and your feet are swollen up something terrible. It was your time. Your time to be on your own. Your time to explore. Your time to meet others of your kind. Your time to grow, mature, find your own territory.

  “Nature said it is your time. You can no longer go back to your nest. You can no longer depend on your parents for help and food. But, now—since you’re weak and hurt—you need help. Your mother and father are concerned that if they help, they will break the Rule. But they’re not sure. That’s why they’re having such a tough time deciding.”

  There was more scraping and scratching. The roadrunner tilted his head to the side. Berland’s head appeared. In the shadows, he could see the front of the tortoise’s shell and his two front feet. “You said if they break the Rule of Nature it would be a disaster. Is that a bad thing?”

  Berland nodded. “Very bad. The desert does not forgive mistakes or breaking the Rule. As you grow, it takes more and more food to fill you up. More and more food to help you grow big and strong. You roadrunners are the best hunters in the desert. Even so, food is hard to find. No matter how much they love you, or how much they care for you, your mother and father know that if they continue to feed you, there won’t be enough food for the three of you.

  “You will not grow. You will become weaker and weaker. By sharing their food, your parents won’t have enough to keep their strength up, either. They’ll become weaker and weaker, too. The time of the Cold is growing near. The time when the bugs and lizards and even the snakes you feed on will become harder to find. If you’re not strong or ready, all three of you will either starve or become easy prey for a bobcat or coyote. To what clan do you belong?”

  “We are the Foote Clan.”

  “If you and your parents are gone, your sister . . . ah . . . er . . . what was her name?”

  “Sprite.”

  “Yeah, Sprite. She will be the only one left. If something happens to her, there will be no more of your Clan. If she survives, finds a mate, and has a family, and then breaks the Rule of Nature, not only the Foote Clan, but another clan as well, may be gone. Nature does not forgive. To break the Rule could mean the end of the roadrunners. Forever.”

  Laying his head against the sand, the roadrunner thought about what Berland said. He felt very scared and a little ashamed.

  “Now do you see why their decision is so hard?” the tortoise asked. “Why they must know—for sure—that they are doing the right thing?”

  His beak scratched the sand when he nodded his head. When his mother and father returned, Berland was at the very top of his burrow. They nodded to him, then turned their attention to their son. “The decision is made,” his father began. “Only the strong survive.”

  The young bird felt his heart sink clear to the very bottom of his throbbing, aching, enormous feet.

  Chapter 5

  “You are strong!” Daddy continued, much to the young bird’s surprise. “If you were not strong, you would not have survived the bite of the rattlesnake. The time of The Naming has come. BUT—you do not have your name. There is enough food nearby for two sunrises. We will help you. This will not break the Rule.

  “When the sun climbs to the sky for the third time—no matter what—you will be given your name. After that, your mother and I will be with you no more.”

  • • •

  For two days the roadrunner’s parents brought him mice, lizards, grasshoppers, and a skink (which no longer had its tail). The second day, his father even brought a huge collared lizard that was almost too big for the young bird to swallow. Mama brought a gopher snake the same day.

  During the time when the sun was high in the sky, they rested, always watchful. Then they hunted again. At night Mama went a few yards from the bush in one direction and Daddy went in the other. If a bobcat or coyote came, they would make it chase them so their son would be safe.

  With each bite, with each morsel of food, the young roadrunner felt stronger. Braver. The first day, his feet still ached and throbbed. He forced himself to stand and take a few steps. The second day, he walked around. Watchful, careful, he left the safety of the creosote bush. The pain was not so bad anymore. It was still hard to walk, but he could do it. Just before the sun climbed to the sky on the third day, he ran to the old cow skull and back. It didn’t hurt much at all, and he stumbled and tripped only a couple of times.

  Just as the sun peeked above the mountains to the east, Mama and Daddy raced across the sand toward him. Mama leaned forward and handed him a small horned lizard. He gobbled it down. Daddy shot her a look but didn’t say anything. Ruffling his feathers, he stood tall and straight. “It is the time of The Naming, my son. There is a fat, juicy, grasshopper on a weed beneath that mesquite tree,” he said, pointing his beak at the ridge. “When the very bottom of the sun rests on the crest of the mountain, you will stand. Race over and catch the grasshopper, then race back. As is custom, we shall watch. Observe your speed, agility, and alertness. When you return, a name will be given.”

  It was an exciting time. He felt the muscles tense in his legs as he watched the sun inch higher. Almost there. Any second now. Wait for
it! Even Berland poked his head from his burrow to watch the ceremony.

  For only an instant, the very bottom of the sun rested on the sharp peak of the mountain. The young roadrunner leaped to his feet. “Whoops!” he heard Berland shriek from beside him. When he glanced down, Berland’s head quickly drew back into his shell.

  When Mama glanced down, her mouth fell open. Her eyes grew big around as the moon. Daddy’s feathers bristled, then smoothed down as his wings drooped. He forced his head crest high and cleared his throat. “Go! Your name will be waiting for you when you return.”

  The young roadrunner raced off. Only he didn’t seem to move as fast as he had a couple of days ago. His feet didn’t hurt, but they felt heavy. A thud and thump sound raced with him across the sand. He tripped once but kept his balance. The grasshopper jumped from the mesquite. He leaped to catch it in flight. Although the leap wasn’t nearly as high as he planned, he still managed to grab the thing with the very tip of his sharp beak.

  He landed on some dried twigs. There was a loud crack. The sound was a little strange, but he didn’t take the time to think about it or even look down. Instantly, grasshopper in beak, he spun and raced back to his parents. Proudly, he showed it to them, then swallowed it down. Both tried to smile, but their smiles weren’t very convincing. They both tried to stand tall and proud, but Mama’s wings drooped, and Daddy’s head crest was flat. Finally, they looked at each other, nodded, then turned to him. “From this day forward,” they spoke together, “you shall be known as . . .

  Chapter 6

  “Move.”

  He heard the voice, but all he could do was sit and sulk. “Move!”

  “No!”

  Something nudged the right hind toe of his left foot. He didn’t budge. “MOVE!!!”

  “No.”

  There was a long silence before Berland’s muffled voice came again. “Your feet still hurt?”