Westly by Bryan Beus

Author:Bryan Beus [Beus, Bryan ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Shadow Mountain Publishing
Published: 2015-05-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

See, it’s called a web,” Westly explained, pulling over as many creatures as he could to watch his demonstration. “So, if I hold four hands like this . . . and then pull out an inch or so of thread . . . and then . . . I think I go like this . . .” he explained, weaving as best as he could remember.

As the pattern grew more and more complicated, the other insects rubbed their noses and glanced awkwardly at the mint-leaf field they were supposed to be harvesting.

“I’ve almost got it. All I have to do is, uh, well . . . there! See?” Westly held his hands up. Stretched between them was a tangled mess of thread and spider glue. Westly tapped his chin thoughtfully and didn’t notice that the sticky thread had stuck to his face. “It worked a lot better when I did it this morning.”

“Sure,” the centipede growled, plopping an acorn helmet on his head and scooting away. With a kind nod a fat beetle countered, “I’m sure it did, Westly. We believe you.” Then he yawned and left as well.

The little crowd dispersed quickly, leaving Westly by himself at the side of the field.

He began trying to untangle his fingers, glancing occasionally at the others as they worked.

Harvesting the mint field was a grueling task. The insects had to bite away the stem of each mint leaf, lower it to the ground, and then work together in teams to move it through the heavy brush. When they finally reached the side of the field the ants cut it to pieces and sorted it into the rucksacks.

“All right, it’s your turn now,” the dragonfly said from behind Westly.

Westly, startled, spun around, the thread that hung from his chin slapping the tall creature’s nose.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Dragonfly,” Westly stammered, yanking the thread back.

“It’s okay, Westly.” The dragonfly sighed heavily and looked at a map sketched on a dry leaf. “I know you want to help but I’m not sure what to have you do. What are you good at?”

“Well . . .” Westly held up the thread. “Maybe I could do something with this.”

The dragonfly looked at the wad of snarled thread on his fingers.

Westly dropped his hand. “I just need to practice a little.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t time to practice hobbies. There’s a lot of work to be done,” said the dragonfly. “And we need everyone to help. But we need you to do something . . . useful. Do you understand?”

Westly hung his head and nodded.

“Good.” The dragonfly looked him over again. “Hmm. I believe you’d be a great weed hunter.”

“Weeds?” replied Westly.

“Yes, weeds. Milkweed specifically. It’s infested the southern end of the patch. The grasshoppers can handle lifting it out, but they’re not the best at hunting it down. They get a little distracted.”

Westly raised an eyebrow.

The dragonfly pointed back over Westly’s shoulder to a dozen grasshoppers who were gobbling down the very mint leaf they were supposed to be harvesting.

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