Sorry it took me so long, somehow I missed this one! O_O This is 250 words.
An Interesting Specimen
Luna was crouched in a clump of ferns, at the base of a mahogany tree, in a Central American jungle a few miles from Chichen Itza, in Mexico.
“I’ve got you now,” she whispered to the Borogrovian Beetle scuttling across the ground at her feet, as she pulled an empty jam jar from her bag.
She tipped the jar up over the beetle to capture it when the ferns rustled. The beetle skittered off as she froze, staring into a pair of very hazel, very human eyes. Luna stood up, and so did he.
It was a man a bit older than her, dark-haired with a short goatee. He wore khaki trousers, a white t-shirt and a pair of green sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. Neither of them said anything and the sounds of the rainforest went on uninterrupted.
She waved her right hand, then her left in half-circles and he mirrored the gesture, tilting his head to the left when she tilted hers to the right. Her hand went to her hip, where her wand was stuck in a pocket, and he wiped one grubby hand on his trousers and offered it to her.
“Rolf Scamander,” he said in an accent that she hadn’t heard in years, except when she talked to herself aloud. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Luna,” she said, pressing the empty jam jar into his outstretched hand with a smile, pulling him toward a patch of bougainvillea. “It went this way.”
An Interesting Specimen
Luna was crouched in a clump of ferns, at the base of a mahogany tree, in a Central American jungle a few miles from Chichen Itza, in Mexico.
“I’ve got you now,” she whispered to the Borogrovian Beetle scuttling across the ground at her feet, as she pulled an empty jam jar from her bag.
She tipped the jar up over the beetle to capture it when the ferns rustled. The beetle skittered off as she froze, staring into a pair of very hazel, very human eyes. Luna stood up, and so did he.
It was a man a bit older than her, dark-haired with a short goatee. He wore khaki trousers, a white t-shirt and a pair of green sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. Neither of them said anything and the sounds of the rainforest went on uninterrupted.
She waved her right hand, then her left in half-circles and he mirrored the gesture, tilting his head to the left when she tilted hers to the right. Her hand went to her hip, where her wand was stuck in a pocket, and he wiped one grubby hand on his trousers and offered it to her.
“Rolf Scamander,” he said in an accent that she hadn’t heard in years, except when she talked to herself aloud. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Luna,” she said, pressing the empty jam jar into his outstretched hand with a smile, pulling him toward a patch of bougainvillea. “It went this way.”
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