Suddenly the force acting against The Beast gives up its righteous fight. With nothing acting against his will The Beast rockets forward, pulling the fishing line along. At some points along his path, most specifically around the rocks, the line stays taught; the driftwood and old sunken boats, however, shatter to pieces and scatter splinters and clouds of murk. This gives The Beast just enough slack to propel himself to the dam.
The water of the splash pool does not freeze solid in the wintertime no matter how low the temperature drops; where water moves it cannot go still. As the three giants work their way through the mountainous snowdrifts, The Beast angles his swim and leaps from the Reservoir like a dipper duck with a beak full of lakebreathers and clears the spillover gap without brushing his scaly hide against the rough, beaver-chewed wood. The moment his nub of a tail leaves the waters of Monksville behind, The Dome’s buzzing vanishes from The Beast’s mind, gone as quickly as it arrived, as if it was never there at all.
Lo, but there’s still the matter of The Giant’s iron hook, the hook attached to the unbreaking metal wire wrapped tight around boulders, some thrice the size of The Beast. The breaking of the sunken wood provided enough slack to clear the dam, but not enough to clear the waterfall; as he plummets towards the open pool beneath the roaring wall of cascading water, The Beast’s head (perched atop his lengthy snake’s neck) is jerked viciously back, but his body continues to fall. The weight of his body, hidden by the dark from the sight of the giants of the Monks Tribe dancing around their nightly bonfire, gives The Beast that extra bit of pull needed to free him from his final prison – the hook rips free of The Beast’s hateful maw, stealing a tooth in the process, and The Beast lands with a mighty splash in the Wanaque Reservoir.
The fall does not phase The Beast. Neither does the landing. His head now clear of The Dome’s infernal buzz, The Beast senses the flow of the current and follows it south to the North Floodgate. It is a simple mechanism – simplicity is the ultimate complexity, as those wiser than I most definitely say – a pipe with a heavy cap, a cap to be removed if and when the water level on either side of the floodgate begins to sink to dire levels. The cap has never been removed since the floodgate was first built and now sports a growth of freshwater mussels, the makings of a supremely easy meal for The Beast. After eating his first morsel as a free denizen, The Beast does not dislodge that cap; he could do it, make no mistake, but he does not, for The Beast has been through quite an ordeal on this day, quite an ordeal indeed. He shall push that cap and swim freely on the other side, no matter how large or small that body of water may be, but first he must rest. Yes, he shall settle down and sleep soundly in the stagnant, icy water inside the pipe, just until the great shine illuminates this dark lake once more. Just until then, he shall sleep.
Just until then.
This has been the twentieth subchapter of the third chapter of the book The Monksville Chronicles. Here is everything you need to know about it:
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