He opened the door of the cage and put his hand in to let the creature climb onto his hand and then lifted it out of the cage. When the wings cleared the doorway, the small thing leapt into the air gleefully. “I’m free!” it cried out in joy. “Free!”And it flitted away!
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“What have you done!” came the voice of Widow Semperius behind Chip! He flinched and turned. “You ignorant lout of a grain-picker! You turned loose my prize possession!”
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Chip watched the creature flutter happily toward the neighboring farmer laboring in the field. “But it’s happy now.” he objected.
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“Of course it’s happy!” the Widow shrieked. “It’s about to bite Goodman Flemerin!”
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“Bite him?”
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“Of course! That’s what it does. And only the one who turned it loose is able to capture it again! Take the cage and run, if you can but touch it, it must obey you and return to the cage! Now run, now!” And the Widow shoved the cage in Chip’s hands and pointed, then shoved his back hard to get him to run!
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Chip took off running. If he caught the creature, he’d decide then what to do. The creature was going to reach Goodman Flemerin well ahead of him, he’d just see if the thing bit Goodman Flemerin or not.
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Goodman Hugh Flemerin was a large, burly man, his shirtless body and majestically thick arms were bronzed from the sun as he wielded his scythe in smooth, even rhythm, with every strike sending an arc of grain down to lie upon the ground. Chip was only a few tens of feet away from the big brawny form which was stooped over at that moment, tying a shock of grain, when the flickering bit of flying light lit upon his shoulder.
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Hugh Flemerin jerked. “Ow!” he complained and swatted at his shoulder, and Chip flinched. The hand had swallowed up the thing, it was surely dead...except when Hugh’s hand lifted up again, there was nothing underneath the palm, nothing on it. And Hugh was rising up and staggering. “What in the Holy Name bit me?” he complained, as he rubbed his shoulder. Then he looked over. “Chip, what are you doing here?”
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Chip started to stutter and explain about the cage, the creature, and how he’d let one out of the other, but then Hugh blinked and then smiled broadly.
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“Well, no matter.” he cut off Chip’s explanation partway through. “The thing is gone now, though I do feel an itch in me from its bite. Can you look at it and see if there’s a welt or a stinger in it?”
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“Certainly.” Chip leaned in close and gazed upon the unmarked skin. “You are unharmed as far as I can see.”
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“Feel it, then, is there a bump there however small?” the usually gruff voice of the sturdy farmer was soft and almost timid.
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Chip put his hand up on the shoulder and felt, and felt nothing like a blemish on the firm, supple, sweat-slicked shoulder, but the farmer sighed. “Your hand,” he said to Chip, “it is as gentle and warm as the kiss of my mother when I was a child. Would you rub the spot where it bit me? It would make me feel so much better.”
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Chip complied with a quiver. He felt the oddest stirring in his stomach as he ran his hands over the huge shoulders. His fingers felt muscles rippling as he touched them, like so many live creatures running about, and yet they were all Hugh Flemerin, the huge, handsome, strong farmer.
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“I think my shoulder feels better, but I have a pain elsewhere that needs your attention.” Hugh said huskily. “If you will but apply your hand there, it will help me enormously.” He rose and turned, to show Chip his broad-breasted chest tipped with two hard, brown nipples.
THE END OF THIS SAMPLE
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