Battlesaurus by Brian Falkner

Monsieur Claude asks.
    â€œPieter is sure,” Willem says.
    â€œThen where are the signs?” Monsieur Claude asks, and there are murmurs of agreement from other men in the group.
    â€œIf everyone will move back, I will let Pieter find them,” Willem says.
    â€œDo as he asks,” Jean’s father says.
    Monsieur Claude is the mayor of the village, and the owner of half of it, but Monsieur Lejeune is the one the villagers most respect. They withdraw immediately.
    Willem sets Pieter on the ground, then clacks his tongue a few times at the microsaurus and makes a rotating hand gesture.
    Pieter runs first to the pool of blood, sniffing at it, then around to the forest side of the path. His small head darts in all directions, sniffing the ground, looking for signs that the human eye cannot see.
    He darts off down the path, heading toward Waterloo, then returns. He still looks agitated, but seems unsure, if that is even possible for a saur.
    It is only when he ventures onto the river side of the path that things start to go very wrong.
    Pieter creeps across the earthen bank toward the river. The riverweeds are short here as beneath the soft dirt is rock and their roots are shallow. Pieter moves cautiously, pushing through the stalks with his nose.
    A patch of long reeds rises out of the river itself, and as he approaches it he starts to become more agitated, darting forward, then retreating just as quickly.
    He sniffs cautiously at the reeds, then suddenly screams in fright and freezes.
    â€œWhat’s he doing?” Jean whispers.
    â€œI don’t know,” Willem says.
    Pieter remains frozen in place for a long moment, then slowly topples to one side. He lies on his side, rigid and immobile.
    â€œPieter!” Willem yells and runs over to him.
    He is breathing and his eyes are moving, but his body is not. It is as if he has been mesmerized, but somehow different. And there are no lights or flames here to mesmerize him. Willem picks up his pet and strokes his stomach gently. Pieter looks at him, but does not otherwise move.
    Although it is early, the sun has already risen above the trees to the east and at that moment a passing cloud releases the sun. A brief flash of white in the reeds of the creek catches Willem’s eye. Something moves.
    He jumps, stumbling and falling backward, Pieter clutched safely to his chest.
    â€œWhat is it?” Monsieur Lejeune asks.
    â€œSomething in the reeds by the river,” Willem manages.
    A long sword that had been hanging from Monsieur Lejeune’s belt is suddenly in his hands.
    â€œEverybody stay back,” he says.
    Willem scrambles away, Pieter still held to his chest.
    Monsieur Lejeune advances, the sword held in front of him.
    He parts the reeds with it, then turns and shakes his head.
    â€œIt is nothing but an old rag,” he says. “Moving in the current.”
    â€œThen why is Pieter so afraid?” Willem asks.
    Monsieur Lejeune thrusts the sword into the reeds and lifts a dirty piece of cloth. It had been half in the river and is sodden. The rest is dirty and brown.
    â€œYour pet is afraid of this?” he asks.
    Monsieur Delvaux’s legs collapse beneath him, and if Monsieur Claude had not been standing next to him to catch him, he would surely have hit his head on the rock of the path.
    â€œThat is not a rag,” Monsieur Delvaux says. “It is Ang é lique’s frock.”
    Now Willem can see it. What appeared to be a dirty bunch of rags is in fact clothing, shredded. It is covered not with dirt but the brown stains of blood.
    â€œThere are no claw prints,” Monsieur Claude still protests.
    â€œNor drag marks,” Monsieur Lejeune says, with a quick, embarrassed look at Monsieur Delvaux. “How could a saur drag her into the river without leaving marks?”
    â€œIt is a saur,” Willem says, firmly, stroking the stomach of his pet, who is just starting to come out of his stupor.