Read the start of this story Here <-- click
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

No title yet, sorry. Working on this in between Zack's story, Bouncer and a few other projects... as well as the mentorship programme.

As ever, FIRST DRAFT spelling, grammar, punctuation etc will not be changed or altered until I go over it as a whole after the story is finished.

HOWEVER, if there are any plot-holes, things that don't work or even suggestions on something I may use, please feel free to pipe up and let me know.

I don't really want 'good post' comments, but rather genuine replies and advice etc. I always appreciate those.

The seventh part of Dusty's 8th Adventure.

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“It almost is too late! Pockle’s lamp-light is dimming. He’s almost extinguished,” the Fire Imp wailed. “If we don’t find him soon, we’ll be too late!”

“His lamp-light?” Dusty said.

“In his home, where he was born, there is a lantern. We all have one. We must revisit it every so often and replenish our energies with it. If we don’t, we die. Simples!” he said, his head low, sniffling into the tissue that Dusty had given him.

The tears had stopped flowing, but the Fire Imp was still upset and Dusty was worried his heat would set fire to the tissue.

“How long has he been away?” Dusty asked.

“A quarter of a century in human terms. That’s far too long. A decade is a long time to leave your lamp-light untended. He must be too weak to get home. That’s why I brought his lamp-light to him!” He took out a tiny, perfect lantern from his waistcoat pocket. It glowed and Dusty’s eyes widened at its beauty.

The light flickered and dimmed and the Fire Imp gasped. “Oh no, it’s worse than I feared,” he said. “Pockle is in danger of his lamp-light going out forever!”

The tissue the Fire Imp clutched in his tiny fist caught on fire because the tears that had dampened it enough to prevent it catching fire before, had dried.

He held onto the burning tissue without a worry of burns and when nothing was left but blackened paper, he flicked his fingers in an instinctive motion to send the ash up into the air, as delicate as a butterfly.

“Stop wailing,” Dusty said. “We’ll find him.”

“But we don’t know where to look,” the Fire Imp said.

“That’s true,” Dusty said and pondered the predicament for a moment or two.

She was distracted by a bump against her shin and the deep rumble of Nightshade’s purr vibrating up her leg.

Dusty looked down.

Nightshade looked up at her and slow-blinked. Then the cat looked across at the male Phoenix.

Dusty’s eyebrows rose as she realised what Nightshade was telling her.

“I wonder,” she said.

“What is it? What do you wonder about?”

“I wonder if we could ask the Phoenix to take care of the lamp-light for a while?” she said.

“We can’t leave it!” the Fire Imp said in a panicked voice.

“OK, that’s fine,” Dusty said. “But I do think the Phoenix will be careful with it.”

Dusty went across to the Phoenix. He watched her approach and she bowed as before, deep and respectful.

The Phoenix bowed in return and she looked to Nightshade to explain things.

Nightshade looked up at Dusty and slow-blinked, but he didn’t approach the Phoenix.

Dusty was at a loss.

“Nightshade can’t talk to the Phoenix, silly girl!” the Fire Imp said. “I told you this wouldn’t work!”

Dusty sighed when she realised the Fire Imp was probably right after all.

She heard a noise from the crevice, a clattering of rocks and a scrabble of claws. The scaled horns of a small red and orange dragon appeared, then the rest of its head, neck and wing tips emerged over the edge and it clambered up onto the plateau.

“Phew, that was a climb,” it said.

“Why are you climbing?” Dusty said.

“Well, my wings aren’t broad enough to catch the thermals to get lift-off without flapping. If you flap your wings down near the lava rivers, you’re in danger of singeing them and that means no flying. So the only thing to do is get high enough to leap off and get a start that way, or climb up high enough to get a running start,”