Baby Penguin's Arc

Chapter 6 of 10

The rope tugged at Baby Penguin's middle. It walked behind its mother, behind its father, behind the old man in the brown hat who set the pace. The ground was hard and uneven. The wind pushed sideways. Trailbreaker's paddle tapped the dirt each step, marking time. Baby Penguin tried to match the tap. The trouble started on a slope of loose stones. Baby Penguin's flippers were too short to hold the slack. The rope drooped between its body and its father's tail. It sagged low, brushed the ground, then caught under Baby Penguin's foot. Baby Penguin stumbled. The line snapped tight against its father's wing and yanked him a half step back. "Little one," Trailbreaker called over his shoulder. "Keep up close." Baby Penguin hurried. Two steps later the rope tangled again. This time it wound around its right foot. Baby Penguin tipped forward. Its beak hit dirt. The tug ran up the line and jerked its mother sideways. She caught herself, but her feet slid on the stones. "Stop," the father said. They all stopped. Baby Penguin lay on its belly with the rope wound twice around its ankle. Its mother bent and worked the loop free with her beak. Her breath came fast. "If it falls on the flats, we all fall," she said. "It could pull us down a bank." Trailbreaker walked back along the line. He crouched. He looked at Baby Penguin's short flippers, at the long slack, at the way the rope hung wrong from such a small body. He rubbed his beard. "My fault," he said. "Tied you like grown ones. You're not a grown one." He untied the loop from around Baby Penguin's middle. The rope fell away. Baby Penguin stood free and cold. Its mother made a low sound in her throat. "Don't fret," Trailbreaker said. He unwound the red scarf from his neck. He shook it out and folded it into a wide sling. He slipped the sling under Baby Penguin's belly and knotted the ends over his own shoulder. Then he stood. Baby Penguin lifted off the ground and swung against his chest. "You ride," Trailbreaker said. "Legs rest. Eyes work. You watch the notch for me while I watch my feet." Baby Penguin's father tested the rope. It ran clean now, only two penguins on the line, tight and even. He nodded once. The mother pressed her beak to Baby Penguin's head through the scarf. They started again. The paddle tapped. The stones passed under Trailbreaker's boots, not Baby Penguin's. From the sling, Baby Penguin could see far ahead. The notch sat between the hills, closer than before. Its short flippers no longer had to keep up. But the warmth of the scarf was not its mother's warmth. And Baby Penguin was no longer walking home. It was being carried.