THE CHASM 

By Tessa Harvey

    The squall swept in from the south-east, thunder cracking, lightning flashes lighting the earth as Emery Henderson clumped across the paddock in his thick gumboots.

    The cold rain soaked him in seconds. He felt the fierceness of the storm as he examined the old stump, where those dratted campers had lit their fire. Emery had asked them to make a ring of stones for their fire, so any fire could be easily checked.

    Picking up an old stick he stirred the sodden ashes. Nothing - just an acrid smell which rose over the fresh tang of eucalyptus. He checked carefully, watching. Nothing. The squall eased. Dead brown grass dripped, faded summer flowers bent bedraggled to the earth. Emery turned for home and breakfast. Betty would have it ready - eggs, bacon, toast, lovely fragrances.

    He would lift and store the potatoes today. But far down in the old stump, a dragon tail twitched, a fierce red eye opened....

    The flicker of flame almost died, then a light wind blew, fanning the tiny fire. The wind grew and the temperature soared. The brief rain was a memory. The dried grass was soon demolished as the tiny dragon fire crept from the stump. It whispered quietly, then leapt for the trees.

    The old farmer digging potatoes ran to get his hose, but Betty was already there. Emery took over, but could soon see they were losing. "Call the fire brigade!" Once again Betty was already on it. The stump was demolished, the fire leaping free and beginning to roar. It was almost mesmerising, but the elderly couple were already in their van with the dog, cat and precious papers. The property was as fire-prepared as possible,  kept that way always. They called up neighbours, going to help those in most need with children.