RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                        Viciousella

 They came at length to a lone hill, rising steep from the tangled lands about it, its crown overrun with tall, withering grasses the color of old gold left too long in the sun. Little did they know—for the day was warm and the wind gentle—that this height was no common mound, but the dwelling place of an ancient serpent of the elder wilderness: a great ash-grey reptile whom the wanderers of forgotten years had named Viciousella. For though her scales were pale as weathered stone, the cavern of her jaws glowed with a deep brick-red hue, like embers smoldering behind iron.
 Unaware of this grim keeper of the hill, they trod upward, the whispering grass parting before them as though reluctant to reveal what lay hidden beneath its shivering blades. And the stillness that lay upon that place was heavy—too heavy for any hill untaken by shadow—yet they passed on, knowing nothing of the silent coils waiting below.
 When at last they strayed into the grasslands, the dawn was but newly kindled, and the dew still clung in silver beads to every bending blade. Thumbelina and Yoshi, wearied by their long wanderings beneath the stars, sank down in the very heart of the slough and were swiftly lost to sleep. The place welcomed them kindly, for the reeds grew tall there, soft as down and swaying like slow green banners in the hush of early morning; and they hid the pair from the sharp wandering eyes of bird and beast alike.
 Yet as they settled into that quiet refuge, a wonder came upon them—for never had they crossed so gentle a hollow without finding a quick-eared hare leaping from its nest, nor a sly weasel glinting from the shadows with mischief in its mind. But no whisker stirred, nor did any soft paw rustle the grasses round about.
 Little did they know of Viciousella, the cunning huntress of that place. She slept now in her narrow earthy den beyond the farthest fringe of the slough, curled in the dimness with her red muzzle tucked beneath her tail, dreaming whatever dreams come to such creatures at sunrise. And so Thumbelina and Yoshi, unwitting of her presence, lay in peace for a while under the pale gold of the morning.
 She cared little for the lean grey hours before dawn, and less still for the cold touch of morning’s dew. Such things were not for her. She preferred to show herself only when the pale mists lifted and the first gold of the sun stole across the earth. Then, and only then, would she emerge—slowly, with a measured grace befitting an old and hidden lady of the wild.
 Out she would come, unhurried as the opening of a long-shuttered door, and curl herself into a small round shape, as though gathering all the warmth of the sun into her narrow frame. For hers was a body made for shadowed places, where colder blood ran its quiet course and time itself seemed to move at a gentler pace. And so she rested in the new light of day, a cold-blooded and a vicious creature welcoming the warmth as though it were an old friend returned at last.
 After the day had ripened and the warmth lay heavy upon the earth, Viciousella would take again to the long slogging path, her hide glinting ruddy in the sun as though some faint fire smoldered beneath it. Hunger ever walked with her, a silent companion.
 More often than not she wandered toward the neighboring millet-field, a humble place of whispering stalks and wind-bent gold. There, a thicket of low bushes clung to the field’s edge, as though guarding some small secret of the land. Upon these bent branches the eagle-sparrows would gather—stern little watchers with bright, keen eyes. They perched in patient ranks, their feathers stirred by whatever breeze had managed to slip down into that quiet corner of the world.
 And Viciousella, slithering softly beneath them, felt herself observed by a hundred glimmering points of light.

 Soft as the passing of a shadow at dusk, the serpent glided beneath the tangled bramble, her scales whispering faintly against the fallen leaves. There she lay in patient stillness, hidden from all but the keenest eye, awaiting the moment when the small brown sparrows would flit down from the boughs to rest.
 Then, with a slowness born of ancient instinct, she raised her head. Her eyes—glassy, cold, and sharp as chips of dark crystal—fixed unblinking upon the nearest of the little birds. No breeze stirred the thicket, no sound broke the hush beneath the leaves, save for the faint quiver of the serpent’s steady gaze, as she watched, and waited, and willed the unsuspecting creature nearer.
 At first the sparrow would bristle, as though some ancient and half-forgotten fire had stirred within its slight breast, and it would spread its wings in a bold display. Yet in a little while, overcome by that strange mingling of giddy hunger and weakness that comes upon small creatures in wild places, it would tumble from the briar-bush. Then Viciousella, having taken him wholly into her gullet, swift as a darting shadow and caring nothing for the frightened chirruping of its kin, would seize its fallen prey and swallow it whole. Sated for a time, she would curl her narrow body beneath the sheltering leaves and lie there in deep, dreamless slumber for many hours.

 But with the first clatter of the cows returning to the meadow, and the sharp, echoing cries of the cowherd driving them home, Viciousella’s eyes would flash open. More than once the lad had pursued her; more than once his heavy whip had whistled through the air after the creature. But Vicousella knew well how to run swift as a loosed arrow, and the hiss that slipped from her lips was as perilous as the whisper of something wild in darkened woods. Once, in a sudden fury, she flung herself upon the cowherd; and so great was her onrush that the poor fellow swayed where he stood, near fainting, as if Death herself had leapt at him from the shadows.
 Indeed, on a certain grey morning, when mist still clung to the hollows and the trees muttered in their sleep, Viciousella turned at last upon her tormentor. With a sudden leap she sprang toward him, and the cowherd, beholding those fierce, glinting eyes and that scarlet—almost firelit—mouth, felt his courage melt away like frost at sunrise. He stumbled back in terror and might well have fainted outright, had not the creature, satisfied with its show of defiance, vanished again into the tangle of brush and shadows as swiftly as it had come.

 That morning the serpent was in a foul temper, for hunger gnawed at her belly like a cold stone. Yet, she crept from her den to bask in the young sun, letting the warm gold seep into her scales before sliding soundlessly along the narrow woodland path.
 In the grass beside the way a small snail without shell or shelter glistened pale as moonlit dew, inching forward with slow and patient courage. Vicious-ella, for so the serpent was named among the creatures of that place, marked the little wanderer with a flicker of her tongue and a glint in her wicked eye; and in that moment she desired nothing more than to coil and strike and swallow.
 But scarcely had she slipped upon the path, her body weaving like dark water, when she found her way barred. Yoshi and Thumbelina stood there—strange companions they were, one quick as a startled hare, the other lumbering and broad as an old tree-root. They had come single-file beneath the leaning boughs, where the branches had long grown together overhead, forming a dim archway as though guarding some ancient secret.
 Viciousella halted, for the air under the trees was heavy and still, and even the fierce of heart felt some shadow of unrest in that place. The light behind them dwindled to a small bright hole, and the forest around seemed to lean close and listen.

 The two companions slept on, carefree and deep, as though some gentle spell of the woods had fallen over their weary limbs. Yet all was not so peaceful beneath the tangled boughs.
 For there, gliding in the half-light with scarcely a whisper, a serpent of the darker sort had marked their coming. Startled by these unbidden wanderers, she let forth a low, angry hiss, and her tongue—thin and forked like a sliver of malice—flickered in and out as though tasting their very presence. Slowly she raised her narrow head, her eyes cold and gleaming, and fixed her baleful gaze upon the little hedgehog.
  Then the creature’s coils tightened; its long body gathered itself as a bow bent with perilous intent. In the next heartbeat it shot forward, swift as a grey arrow loosed in shadow.
 The nimble hedgehog sprang aside, but not swiftly enough to escape the serpent’s furious strike. A dreadful blow caught him, sending him tumbling. He cried out—a thin, sharp sound, swallowed quickly by the dim undergrowth—and rolled over, spines bristling in fear and pain.
 Stunned by the blow, the poor hedgehog knew not at first what manner of foe had assailed him. Yet when the thin, sibilant whisper of the serpent reached his ears, and he felt the cruel prick of needle-teeth upon his tender snout, an older wisdom woke within him. Yoshi as thought he curled himself into a tight brown ball, and out bristled his little spears like a fortress roused for war.
 Then the serpent—Viciousella she was called in those shadowed places—drew herself long and straight as a spear of malice, seeking by her very tautness to guard her flesh from the hedgehog’s stout armour. So began a grim struggle for life beneath the whispering grass. The tall stalks shuddered and swayed with their wrestling; and from that green maze there rose now the thin, desperate squeal of Yoshi, now the harsh and venomous hiss of Viciousella, as fate weighed the small lives contending there beneath the heedless sky.

 Woken at last by the clamor, Thumbelina stuck her head out of the shelter of her heavy, time-worn shell. Long she blinked in the half-light, for her eyes were slow to rouse and slower still to comprehend the troubles of Yoshi. Yet as the moments passed, understanding—dim and ponderous—crept upon her like dawn through a deep wood.
 Before her, Yoshi struggled in the coils of the great serpent, its scales glimmering with a dull and perilous sheen, and the very air about them seemed to quiver with its hunger. Then Thumbelina, rousing all the strength stored in her broad, crooked limbs, heaved herself upright. A rumble like distant thunder escaped her as she began to move.
 Though her gait was heavy and her pace unhurried by nature, now she pressed forward with uncommon haste. Leaves shuddered under her tread, and the ground itself seemed to brace for her coming. With a determination seldom seen in her kind, Thumbelina lumbered toward the snake, intent on breaking her deadly grasp—slow, perhaps, but unstoppable as the roots of the earth.
 The unexpected stroke came swift as a falling branch in a storm, and Viciousella recoiled in sudden wrath. She loosed the poor hedgehog from her coils and swung her gaze toward the slow-shelled turtle. Yet Thumbelina, wiser than she seemed, had already drawn herself deep into the shadowed hollow of her trough, as though earth itself had swallowed her.
 Foiled once more, the deceived serpent turned back with a hiss like steam from hidden fissures. But Yoshi was no longer sprawled helpless upon the ground. Bristling with thorns that glimmered like tiny spearheads in the dim light, he had regained his feet. Behind that prickly bulwark, he advanced with a courage born of desperation.
 Vainly did Viciousella snap and strike, seeking some chink through which her fangs might find a vulnerable spot. Every blow met only the sharp forest of spines that guarded the small warrior. She saw then the gleam in his dark eyes—red with fury, but steady as embers in a hearth long untended.

 Back and forth she darted, as a shadow chased by her own fear, and each time her body brushed the shield of thorns she recoiled with a hiss more filled with malice than before. She leapt this way and that, coiling, uncoiling, her lithe form striking at air and bramble alike, while Yoshi stood firm, a stubborn sentinel in the dim and tangled clearing.
 Suddenly the little hedgehog sprang forth, swift as a prickle-backed dart. And when she, startled by his boldness, stepped back to guard herself, he caught fast at her tail with a fierce and desperate grip. Then the creature’s red mouth rose up like a spear-tip, and a thin hiss of pain escaped her, sharp as the whisper of steel in the dark places of the forest.
 With the last bits of her strength she wrenched herself free. Her slender body, light and lithe, snapped through the air like a whip lashed by an unseen hand, and for a heartbeat she glimmered in the sun, bright as a silver stream breaking through the canopy. The hedgehog could not keep his hold. He was flung aside, rolling into the fallen leaves and tangled roots, where he lay among the shadows, muttering and bristling in wounded astonishment.
 As soon as her limbs were loosed and the weight of peril fell from her, Viciousella darted away. With a few lithe windings of her long, sinuous body she sped across the leaf-strewn earth, and reaching the shadowed lip of her burrow, she slipped within, vanishing like a flicker of flame swallowed by the dark earth.