His words hit her heart and snapped against it. And somehow, her fear snapped in half, too. The dinosaur towered over her. He could swallow her in one bite. His claws could rip her apart without so much as a wink and a wave. And all he could think of to threaten her with was getting old in her own home.
September laughed at the tyrannosaurus. She saw him flinch. Her laughter was as good as a weapon, sometimes. She could hold it in front of her and it would stop even the lizard king. “Forty’s not the worst thing to happen to anyone,” she said, pointing her whisker at his eye. “And if I turn forty again today, then that makes today my birthday, and on my birthday, I get whatever I want.”
She turned and kissed Saturday’s lips, Ell’s nose, Saturday again. And again. The tattoos along her arm felt hot and alive.
“I love you,” she said. “I love you and I’m not sorry for anything and nothing could ever be as good as us again in all the worlds that ever were. I’ll find a way back. I will. We saw our daughter, after all, didn’t we? On the Gears of the World. That means it’s not over.”
For a terrible moment, September looked into Saturday’s deep black eyes and knew he had no idea what she was talking about. All she saw there was a keen and interested boy about to watch a duel. But he kissed her back, and it was a kiss full of their history. The sun must have slanted strangely, that’s all. Oh, but, September, it wasn’t the sun, and a kiss may hide a thousand troubles.
Blunderbuss nosed up behind her, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and tossing her up onto her own broad, woolly back.
“Buss, you don’t have to. You’ll get hurt. Let me down.” September stroked her ear, though. She felt very warmly toward everyone, now she was certain to lose.
“Don’t be stupid, Lady Stuff-Up! Without me, you can’t even reach his kneecap. You will be an actual, no-fooling ankle-biter. This is my moment to shine like yarn never shone before! And it doesn’t break any rules because I’m just your bloody steed, aren’t I? In the Land of Wom, we bite to show we like a thing. And that we don’t like a thing. And that we think a thing is delicious. And that we think it is ours. Because anything you bite is yours, everyone knows that. We bite when we are angry and hungry and joyful and excited to go home and frightened of wild dinosaurs and because it is Tuesday but also because Saturday and Ell are watching and especially when we are DELIGHTED but NERVOUS. Nothing says I am having feelings like a bite.” The scrap-yarn wombat leaned round and, ever so softly, bit September’s toes. She hoped Hawthorn would not be too jealous.
September blinked and blinked, but she gave up and admitted she was crying. “This doesn’t make you a steed,” she said, and steadied her whisker-sword in her fist.
“I know that, goofball. I will NEVER be a steed. But I am a COMBAT WOMBAT and I bite for Wom!”
Blunderbuss charged the Rex Tyrannosaur at full speed, hollering ancient Wom battle songs that brought tears to the eyes of Tugboat, Conker, Bluestocking, Meatpie, and even Gregory. Thrum bent his huge head and thundered at them, kicking potholes into the road and roaring fit to wake the hills themselves. September hoisted her whisker like a jousting lance. Maybe it’s not teeth exactly, but it’ll bite when I stick him with it, she thought desperately.
Perhaps if she had jousted a dinosaur five years ago, September would have closed her eyes at the last moment. But she kept them open now. Some things are so big and frightening you’ve got to get big to face them. Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, she thought to the rhythm of the wombat’s gallop. Home to Mother and Papa and home to the teacups and the dog and school and you’ll find a way back someday. Someday, someday, someday.
September kept her eyes open and her sword straight and she rammed that whisker right into Thrum’s thick, scaly hide, a perfect hit, in the middle of his narrow breast. It bent against his ribs and vibrated out of her hand. The tyrannosaurus howled and snapped at her with all the strength of his primordial jaws—and missed. Blunderbuss dodged and careened and jogged off past the great lizard with a whisker sticking out of his chest.
“Brilliant job, Rexy! You fight like a fossil!” said the wombat madly, laughing, the battle riding so high in her heart that she did not notice the long wound in her flank where Thrum had caught her. Stuffing puffed out. Yarn began to unravel. She didn’t even slow down, swinging round for another pass.