Caught on The Thatcher's Prick
Or; An Exercise in immaturity
"'Eh, Ken it's over here!" Reynold called from behind some foliage, "I knew there were a way! There ain't no fishin' spot that can 'scape me". I knew exactly what he was talking about, as I had had spotted the unholy goat-path nearly an hour earlier. "Git o'er 'ere! Don' wan' me cachin' all the fish on my lonesome, do yeh?" In reality I would have liked nothing more. His mad quest for 'the perfect fishing spot', driven by his ego and further emboldened by his own batch of tainted cellar hooch, was about to be realized. A fisher's paradise, free from competition and strategy:
Thatcher Falls. Or, more specifically,
The Thatcher's Prick. A small erection of rock jutting from the side of said water fall. No doubt named by someone of similar inebriation to Reynold.
"Were you be, man?" He called again. I don't know why I followed him, guess I didn't have anything better to do that day. Then again, I didn't do much even on my best days. So I'll just blame it on raw stupidity. Hells, I had only known the bastard for a couple months at best.
"'Eh! I see ya dawdlin'!"
"I ain't a child Rey! I can dawdle as I please! The fish aren't going to get too far."
Reynold snickered. Or cackled. You could never really tell with him. I uncaught my line from the foliage for the fifth time that day and made my way to the bastard. I took my time with every step, savoring every moment before I arrived at my dreaded destination. The crashing falls to my right and a straight drop to my left, in between was the goat-path. My mind struggled to come up with a safe plan of action, all the while Reynold wore a snaggle-toothed smile. I had it in my mind to push him off right there and then. No one would've questioned his disappearance; Hells, I could have told everyone I straight up murdered him and they probably would have welcomed me a hero. Sadly, I didn't have the guts and proceeded down to
The Thatcher's Prick. Rey was almost inhuman, I'm sure if there were any goats to witness him they would've crowned him the king of the bloody mountains. In stark contrast, I was so focused on not dying I forgot to move with any grace, instead slowly crawling and praying to every god that could feasibly save me. By the time I made it to the rock the bastard had already finished setting up. At least then I would get some bloody peace, nothing came between Rey and his fishing.
I did my best to brush off the dirt of my clothes and went to work untangling my line, something that took far too long as Reynold had already managed to "angle" two trout before I let down my first hook. The strategy on The Thatcher's Prick was so simple it might as well been non-existent. You let down your line and waited for the fish to helplessly tumble from the falls and onto your hook. It was brutish and wholly unfair and I admit that's the way I liked it best. We sat in holy silence for hours and I fished up a good half-dozen trout. I dared not look at Rey's catch, as it would no doubt have made mine look absolutely miserable in comparison. More time passed and before I realized it night overtook us. It was then a lurking terror came over me. One I had blissfully ignored until that moment; The way back. I would have to go back up the fucking goat-path in the dark with a load of dead trout, or I would have to spend the night on
The Thatcher's Prick with Reynold. I didn't know which was worse. My mind was torn from those thoughts however, just as my rod torn from my hands and went tumbling into the falls. "Musta been quite a lunker." Rey mumbled, the only thing he said to me since we made it to that cursed rock. I didn't bother replying, that was the third rod I lost on Reynold's little expeditions and I was right pissed. I started packing my catch before I was struck by a violent spray of water. My trout washed off into the torrent and I was knocked flat on my ass. I felt ill with raw rage and under normal circumstances I might have completely lost my temper, but normal it was not.
There, as real as could be, a big, blue bastard of a dragon had raised it's scaly head through
Thatcher Falls. It's beady eyes searched and it's nostrils flared as it loudly snorted, obviously searching for something. I tried calling out to Reynold, but all that came out was a breathy weeze. The beast shuddered as it further pulled it's massive body from the hidden cave, sending more spray to drench me and Reynold. The stupid bastard kept on fishing, completely oblivious to the awesome event unfolding less than a stones throw away from him. I managed to wrangle my nerves. "Rey, th-there's a bloody fucking dragon." I screamed as quietly as I could. This time he managed to hear it and turned to face me, his sneer of annoyance turning to... A greater sneer of annoyance as he spotted the dragon. He mumbled something nearly inaudible that sounded awfully like "You're late."
Confusion hit me, I thought he surely must have been in some sort of shock, but as I opened my mouth to question it he started screaming bloody murder. Not real bloody murder, mind you, it seemed oddly forced. Like a apprentice actor trying dearly to come off that he was stabbed. Regardless, the dragon took notice and with it's mighty claw reached over me and gingerly plucked Reynold from
The Thatcher's Prick. The blue beast inspected the screaming bastard before retreating behind the falls with it's catch, mercifully ceasing the shrieking.
The goat-path suddenly looked very inviting and I accepted its calls with feverish fervor. Behind me I heard the groan of stone then a massive smash as the great blue dragon burst from it's cave. Rey renounced his reign as king of the mountains as I bounded up the path. The only thing stopping me from making the trip being the dragon itself, perching it's massive form right were the path met proper land. I turned about and made my way back down to
The Thatcher's Prick only to find to my complete terror Reynold standing on it. His snaggled grin spread wider than humanly possible. I stooped to pick up the largest stick within reach, half-intent to beat the bastard to death.
"Calm yerself," he said, trying and failing to not snicker, "It's jus' me man."
The stick slipped from my hands. I was unsure what god I angered, but it was smiting me with a vengeance. I tried to think of something clever to say, but failed, resigning myself to weakly mutter, "What?"
"'Tis jus' a joke Ken. Don' go killin' anybody." From behind me I could hear the dragon burst into a fit of guttural laughter.
"That's..." I pointed to the laughing lizard.
"An ol' friend."
"Oh." It was all I could say. I guess if anyone could befriend a dragon it was Reynold, though finding one with a similar shitty sense of humor must have been quite a feat. Uncomfortable silence hung for a few terrible moments as all three of us stood quietly.
"Can I just go home?" I sighed, "I'm fucking tired."
"Jus' answer me one question firs'."
"Sure, whatever."
"'Owed it feel playin' wit' yer rod on
The Thatcher's Prick?"
I wished that the dragon had just eaten us both.