Grunk Pepperoni's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Grunk Pepperoni wanted to tame the ancient king of fruit bats, the giant said to nest at the world's tallest peak. But this morning his own bat, the red-maned one he rode on pizza runs, hung upside down from a rounded mushroom roof, panting. Grunk stood below with a stack of cooling boxes and knew the plan was already broken. "You made it halfway up yesterday," Grunk said. He scratched the spiky red crest. "You can't breathe up there. The air's too thin." The bat squeaked and folded a wing over its face. Grunk understood. His mount weighed as much as a barrel, but the peak sat higher than any bird flew. Thin air had nearly dropped them both. To reach the king, Grunk needed a mount that walked, not one that flapped. He looked across the clearing. A tree with fruit stood there, and every fruit had a little face. They watched him with bright eyes and small grins. Near the tree grazed an orange donkey with six legs. It lifted its head, ears twitching, and stamped all six hooves at once. Grunk had seen the beast before. Traders swore it climbed cliffs no goat would try. Six legs gripped rock like six strong hands. "You," Grunk said, pointing. "You could carry me." The donkey brayed and trotted behind the tree. The fruit faces giggled, a chorus of tiny hiccups. Grunk lumbered after the donkey. It sidestepped. He grabbed for its mane. It ducked and kicked mud onto his boots. Grunk stopped and thought. The donkey liked the fruit tree. It kept circling back to the low branches. So Grunk reached up and plucked one ripe fruit. The little face on it puffed its cheeks in protest. "Sorry," Grunk whispered. He held it out flat on his purple palm. The donkey froze. Its nose stretched forward. Slowly it stepped close, took the fruit, and crunched. Grunk laid a hand on its warm neck. This time it did not bolt. He fed it a second fruit, then a third, and slid onto its back. The donkey held steady under his weight. Grunk gripped the mane and squeezed his knees. "Up," he said. The beast walked, sure and solid, six hooves biting the ground. It felt like riding a boulder that had learned to march. Grunk grinned wide. A climber, at last. He could reach the peak on this. Then his bat dropped from the mushroom roof and landed on his shoulder, wings trembling. It stared at the donkey and screeched, jealous and afraid. Grunk froze. He could not carry his hot pizza boxes and ride the donkey and calm his frightened bat all at once. And the donkey knew only one trick now. It turned its head, sniffing for another fruit. When none came, it snorted, lowered its shoulders, and began walking toward the tree with Grunk still on its back, whether he liked it or not.