The Square Peg - Planes, Automobiles and Capes

 The Square Peg - Planes, Automobiles and Capes

© S. Bradley Stoner

[Pressed for time today, so another short one from the past. Besides, I just bought my senior combination fishing, hunting and frog gigging license and my head is filled with visions of baked filet of flounder, Crawfish Etouffee a la Emeril, frog legs, mushroom stuffed quail, venison marsala, and a nice Merlot to help it go down.]

I've traveled for years. I've traveled for business... for family... and, well, for me.  Actually, I'm traveling today... I think... perhaps... possibly... we'll see.

I travel by many modes... airplane (although as you can see, the security delays are creating some interesting traffic patterns, particularly in California - where suddenly everybody wants out - I think their shaky economy is sliding off into the Pacific)... by car (actually I like this the best, but gas prices - GEESH!!!)... and, of course by cape (that's right... you heard it here first!).  Traveling by cape, however is a bit pretentious, since not everybody has a knack for it and, well frankly, you have to have a special cape.  You can't just cut one out of any old piece of cloth... its a secret nano-cape formula... shhhhhhh!  The government doesn't want anyone to know about it... they stole the formula from the Kryptonians.

It's really the best way to travel... requires no gas, is totally non-polluting, and has Al Gore all pissed off because they won't give him one.  I guess they figure he can power his own vehicle with all that hot air.  Nope... not going to go on a rant... too nice a view from up here... Al looks so tiny and harmless from this altitude, and all those little people who blindly follow like so many little ants... Makes me wonder whatever I did with that box of diazinon... it works great on ants and other tiny little pests...

Oh wait.... my magic rod just wiggled in... it told me there are fresh shrimp that need to be fed to rock fish somewhere to the south and it's tugging me in that direction... Screw PETA... fish are yummy... and fun to catch... 

"What?  Uh, nothing, sweetie... uh just looking at the fishing report... okay... okay... I'm coming... just let me get my cape...."

The Square Peg - An Oldie... My First, Last and Only Chicken Tuesday Blog

The Square Peg - An Oldie... My First, Last and Only Chicken Tuesday Blog

© S. Bradley Stoner

[While I'm busy writing other things, I'll be posting some oldies, Chicken Tuesday was started way back in the Yahoo 360 days by my wife and a few of her friends and carried forward through Multiply. Although originally intended for the exchange of recipes, it occasionally degenerated into silliness... usually because I got involved. So in honor of those halcyon days, here's one of my offerings. BTW, it was not my"Last and Only" appearance on the Chicken Tuesday exchange.]

Well… I went out to the hen house this morning to check on all them mother-cluckers and make sure they were keepin’ busy with the egg makin’ and all. Well, wouldn’t you know it… they were all in a bawky mood… sorta on strike… wouldn’t lay a thing. Then they all started bantering at once. I’m tellin’ you, it was a genuine clustercluck.

So, I thought to myself, “Well, maybe they need a rooster.” So, I checked the rooster roster to see what the rotation was. Turns out it was the Banty’s turn. I was skeptical, but the little pecker, a brassy little strutter, crowed that he was locked, cocked and ready to rock. Yep… a real regular booster rooster.

Well, Ol’ Banty hit that yard like gangbusters… and danged if them hens didn’t just disappear inside that henhouse. I’ve seen it before, but I didn’t think they’d pullet this time… they were scarce as hen’s teeth, if ya know what I mean. Well, Ol’ Banty wasn’t havin’ any of it. He charged into that hen house right after them. Well, ya coulda heard the ruckus a mile away… there was a squawkin’ and bawkin’ like you never heard before. I’m telling’ ya, the feathers were flyin’.

Well, pretty soon, one of them biddies comes staggerin’ out of the hen house, wild-eyed and spraddle-legged like she’d just laid a double-yolker. One after another, the whole flockin’ bunch of them stumbled into that chicken yard… you could say they’d had their feathers ruffled a bit, but they seemed okay otherwise.

Well, Ol’ Banty finally staggers out of the henhouse, lookin’ like somethin’ the cat dragged in. His tail-feathers were droopin, his comb flopped over, his eyes dull. He just barely made it to the gate. Well, it was clear that he was pretty well done in, and me, figurin’ there’s no sense in wastin’ a good chicken, especially on a Tuesday, I did what I had to and that rooster is now bein’ barbequed.

Me? Well I took this to be one of life’s moral lessons… If yer feelin’ cocky, don’t go messin’ at a hen party, you’ll just wind up getting grilled.

The Square Peg - Wun Wing Low

The Square Peg - Wun Wing Low
© S. Bradley Stoner

It's the last weekend of summer for most school-aged kids here in San Antonio. After an entire summer of indolence for most of them... you know, sleeping late, hours of X-Box, PlayStation, or just endless inane texting on the android or iPhone... there is a sudden burst of frenetic activity in the neighborhood. Kids have found their skateboards, bicycles, scooters, trampolines, and, uh-oh, cars. One of the latter came to a stop at the end of the block and six teenagers of various shapes, sizes, and sexes poured out, raced around the car, got back in and took off. Yep, that's the old Chinese Fire Drill all of us used to do back in the good old days. It seems to have undergone a resurgence. Or maybe it never went away and I just wasn't paying attention. Who knows?

Bingo Bob yelled something about kids these days that I can't repeat . I shook my head and yelled back, "They're just doing the old Chinese Fire Drill!"

That apparently pee-oed old Bob no end. He threw the end of his hose, nozzle going full bore, down on the ground, got thoroughly soaked before he could turn it off, and came stomping in my direction. Drawing near, he said, "You can't say things like that anymore... it's racist!"

"Geez, Bob, dial it back a notch. And anyway, it's not any more racist that saying 'gook Pho' and that isn't racist at all."

Bob was absolutely apoplectic. "You can't say 'gook' for cripes sake! That's horrible! I can't believe you!"

I proceeded to tell Bob that 'gook' in Vietnamese means 'good' according to my Vietnamese friends (I suppose they could be lying to me, but why would they... and I have a lot of Vietnamese friends). And in Korean it means 'soup' which is interesting, because Pho in Vietnamese is soup, usually chicken soup, but it can be any kind of broth-based soup, I suppose. If you were speaking a mishmash of Korean and Vietnamese, 'gook Pho' would mean 'soup soup,' which is kind of funny if you think about it. Any way, we were veering from the topic, and I didn't want to go down that road. "Why do you think 'Chinese Fire Drill is racist? Because some politically correct censor told you it was?"

Bob's jaw worked. He wasn't quite sure how to answer that, especially since he generally was the epitome of the redneck conservative. Is redneck racist? Or doesn't racism apply when talking pejoratively about good ole boys?

"Besides," I said, the term had its origins in World War one when British pilots talked about bad landings. The called them 'Chinese landings' because lousy pilots would land with one wing low."

"Wun Wing Low??" Bob stared at me. "Why would they have a Chinese guy flying with them?"

"One... as in the number one, Bob. It just meant that they came in with one wing lower than the other... not that they had a Chinese guy on board, for Pete's sake. But because it sounded like a Chinaman's name, they started calling it a Chinese Landing. Then, because they thought Chinese just looked confused in a crisis, milling around and such, the term 'Chinese Fire Drill' came about to describe a confused situation. And let's face it, when kids come to a stop at a stop sign or light, jump out of the car and run around like chickens with their heads cut off... well that just looks confusing. So if you have an issue with Chinese Fire Drill, take it up with the Brits... not me."

I could tell Bob wanted to continue the argument because he sort of sputtered like a dying lawn mower, but it was obvious he didn't know how to keep it going. "Damn kids! They keep doin' that, they're gonna cause an accident."

"On a residential street? Seriously, Bob?"

"Looks like you and me are in a Mexican stand off on this one..."

"That's racist, Bob." You had to know I was going to say it, right?

`

The Square Peg - Duncan Donutz Dumps and Grumps

The Square Peg - Duncan Donutz Dumps and Grumps
© S. Bradley Stoner

So, there I was, happy as a pig in mud, trimming my roses so they would bloom again. The sun was out, it had just rained... things smelled good, the ground was just a little squishy, and I was avoiding the thorns, which were particularly nasty on one of the bushes. I was in the zone. It was too good to last.

Duncan Donutz came strolling by... it's a good thing Duncan visited Krispy Kreme often or his stroll would have been turned into a drag by his big German Shepard, Gnash. Duncan waved at me. I waved back and shouted, "How's it going? And how's old Gnash." Duncan scowled. Gnash... well Gnash just sort of gnashed, if you know what I mean. Right then I knew my pleasantries were going to be greeted unpleasantly.

Duncan detoured from the sidewalk and strolled onto my lawn, the scowl never leaving his face. So, like an idiot, I did it again. "'sup?" 

"Them guys are all idiots," Duncan grumped. "Every damn one of 'em. ID-EE-UTS!"

Now, I know Duncan had a beef with the HOA (don't we all?), he'd had a slight run-in with the school board, and he was thoroughly pissed at his next door neighbor because that guy was, "a freaking pinko commie California hippy." I guess he didn't like the garage band the neighbor's kid had started. Well, to be honest those drums banging late at night can get a little annoying, especially when the drummer can't keep the beat in synch with the rest of the band. But, we were all kids once, weren't we? Cut 'em some slack. At least they aren't out spray painting graffiti or rotting their brains on dope and video games. I give them pluses for that. I had to ask... didn't I? Idiot. "What guys?"

"All of those nut jobs running for President."

"Of what?" Oh yeah, I had to poke the badger. "The HOA, the PTA, or the USA?"

That caused a torrent. Good old Duncan had apparently been chewing on this for some time and he started dumping. So did Gnash, which didn't make me very happy. My lawn is not a doggy rest room. "The USA," Duncan spat. "There isn't one of them worth two hoots in hell, far less worthy of a vote, but you can bet your boots the ignoramuses in this country will put one of them in office. This country is going to hell in a hand basket and the mass of stupids are driving the train at top speed."

"Interesting visual," I commented. I pointed at Gnash, "You're sidekick left a present on my lawn."

Duncan pulled a plastic Walmart bag (which I thought somehow apropos) out of his pocket and bent to pick up the pile without breaking stride in his diatribe. "On the one hand you have that lying witch..." only he didn't say witch, which, while likely accurate, was sort of rude and might upset Bill... or not, "and on the other side you have mister Broadway Big Bucks, another generation of the Bush dynasty, and a bunch of career governors who all think they have a chance and are only confusing the issue... there's that namby-pamby Jersey guy... he's worthless as tits on a boar... that Ohio guy who hasn't managed to pull his state out of the economic doldrums yet... good ol' Rick from Texas, but those glasses just make him look goofy... it might make a pretty young woman look smart, but that doesn't work with him. And then there's..."

"Sounds like you're more focused on the GOP than the other party."

"Well heck and tarnation... there's really only one running on that side."

"Geez, Duncan... your relying on TV news again. There are five that have been in the news, six if you figure the Veep might run, plus there's over forty who have declared or formed exploratory committees on the Donkey side of the ledger. Kind of funny that the talking heads don't report on the crowded field of Democrats, isn't it?"

"Didn't know that," Duncan admitted. "I'll have to look it up. Anyway, those reporters are all commie pinko liberals anyway."

"Even Fox News?" I asked.

"Well, no," Duncan nodded, "they're the only unbiased reporters out there."

I wanted to say, 'Sure they are...' but I held my tongue. Frankly, I don't believe any of them. I'd rather waste my time watching Gilligan's Island than watch the news... except for the weather report. I'm running a book on their predictions. So far I'm up forty bucks. "So have you made up your mind about who you'll vote for?"

"Too early... I'm leanin' toward the Tea Party, but I'm not sure they have a chance. Damn shame too... What about you?"

"I'm thinking Ecuador has a nice ring to it."

The Square Peg - TV Ads or Who Are These Guys Anyway?

The Square Peg - TV Ads or Who Are These Guys Anyway?

© S. Bradley Stoner

There are some things in life that just annoy me. Not to the point of driving me to distraction or raising my blood pressure mind you, but annoying nonetheless. TV ads will do that to me. Take the three little old ladies taking a test drive in a new car with a young salesman. First off, those women have annoying voices. That alone is enough to make me switch channels, which I did only to have the balance of the commercial show up on the new channel. Geez. Second, do these ad writers think all older people have lost all their faculties and reverted to teenage babble? Lord, I hope not. That ad alone would make me consider going to a different car manufacturer... one that shows the capabilities of the vehicle without all the nonsense. The one with the older cowboy using horses to unstick his truck... oh wait... that's a Viagra ad.

Then there's that insurance company ad. You know the one... it has the woman with the "name your price" tool. Now those ads were pretty good for a long time, then suddenly the ad writers went stupid. Who wants to see an ad with all the family members played by the same woman sitting around the dinner table whining and sniping at each other? Let's face it, they didn't even do a good job with the makeup. Maybe they should have laid out the money to hire Eddie Murphy's makeup artist... I mean if someone can turn a skinny little guy into a lovable fat man and make it believable... well heck, you've got something there. I think that insurance company with the lizard is looking better and better. At least the ad people show some imagination on that one. Let's just hope they don't follow the progressive movement in ad production.

And what about that cell phone company with the geese that get upset because they switched to a company that just doesn't have good coverage everywhere? Okay, I'll admit the premise is sort of cute and they did a pretty good job on the visuals... except for one minor flaw. Okay, it's a major flaw. If it was minor it probably wouldn't annoy me. "What might that flaw be?," you ask. It's the geese. The ad opens with a set of beautiful shots of Canada Geese taking off and flying south. Great photography. Then they show them landing. WAIT JUST A DAMN MINUTE! Explain to me how on earth the landing geese turned into a completely different species? Don't those ad guys know the difference between a Canada Goose and a Barnacle Goose? Obviously not. And why, in the middle of bemoaning the coverage issue and telling the public that those geese hate that buffering thing, do they pop in a closeup of a Canada Goose head and neck? I didn't see one single Canada in that flock on the field. I'm an environmental biologist... I notice these things, but any idiot can see that there are two different kinds of birds in this ad. Who are these guys anyway? A little attention to detail, fellahs. Frankly, I don't think I'd trust a company urging me to "come home" that can't tell the difference between two completely different critters. I'd be afraid they might be baiting my switch.

Honestly, I'd rather watch the beer ads during football games. Who doesn't like watching big horses play soccer? Or people getting hit in the head with apples? That's almost as fun as the game itself. If they start screwing up beer ads, I'm going to shoot my television. I can download film of the cheerleaders on my computer. Y'all have yourselves a nice day now, and don't watch too many ads... they'll rot your brain.

The Square Peg - Bingo Bob Explains The Universe

The Square Peg - Bingo Bob Explains The Universe

© S. Bradley Stoner

Mid-August... zero dark thirty... dawn watch... I was up. I kept to the shadows, away from the sensor that would flood the darkness with the glare of 400 watts of GE floods. Silently, I stole to the coiled green hose and screwed on the nozzle, closing its aperture to contain the flow until I was ready to release the torrent on the creeping brown that threatened to consume my lawn. Back I crept like a ninja, carefully keeping out of the sensor’s view, until I reached the edge of the Baked Plains. And then I let her rip... the hiss of the sudden gush filled the morning as it knifed through the already rising heat.

About that time, Bingo Bob came strolling up. “Watering your lawn?”

“Nope... drowning ants.”

“Doesn’t work,” Bob shook his head, completely missing the sarcasm. “I know... I tried it.” He watched as I moved the stream around to soak all the brown. “Oh,” he sighed, “you were joking, right? Speaking of jokes... I’ve been watching the Discovery channel.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “some of the stuff they put on that channel is a joke.”

“No... no! I meant we are kind of a joke.”

“Careful about who you include in that ‘we,’ Bob.”

“Huh? Oh... no, I mean all of us... every living thing on this planet. We’re so insignificant.”

“Maybe you are, Bob, but the rest of us might disagree, although some are pretty big for their britches in the significance department.” Sometimes when I take the conversation down a slightly different path, it confuses Bob.

“Britches?” Bob looked down at his bay window.

I knew he couldn’t see his britches... matter of fact, I’m not sure he could see his shoes. I could see the look of consternation on his face and did a quick mental calculation. “Well, Bob,” I said, “since people are around sixty percent water, I figure the real you... everything that isn’t water... only weighs around ninety six pounds.”

“Good to know,” Bob replied. Then the light bulb went back on. “See, that’s what I mean... look at the universe... it’s huge. On that scale, we aren’t even an atom. We probably aren’t even a boson.”

I was impressed. Not at his general statement... the fact that he even knew the term boson. “Ahh, you’ve been watching Cosmos again, haven’t you?”

He ignored my comment. “Yeah... we aren’t even a speck in the universe. Makes you wonder why we even try. I mean, would the universe come to an end if I didn’t show up to work? I don’t think so. Would there be a disturbance in the space time continuum if I barbecued every night? Not a chance. Does the universe care that we might be heating up our planet? No way. So why get excited if somebody blows up something somewhere and offs a lot of people? We’re all just dust anyway.”

I hate it when Bob gets philosophical. First off, his logic is fuzzy and second, it usually leads to some topic that has nothing whatsoever to do with his original thought.

“I mean, just look at us... we send troops off to some place I’ve never been, drop bombs on people I’ve never met, and slap sanctions on countries I don’t give a hoot about. Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous compared to the immensity of the universe. And it’s not like we are alone... Did you know that ancient Egypt had airplanes and technology we can’t explain even today?”

“Oh Lord. You’ve been watching Ancient Aliens, too, haven’t you Bob?”

“Well think about it... if there aren’t intelligent beings out there, it would be an awful waste of space, now wouldn’t it?”

“Geez, Bob... you’re ripping off Carl Sagan now.”

“Well it’s true... And we know there are aliens... they got some back in 1947 and locked them up in Area 51. Only one survived, but he gave us all those technological advances and created a bunch of new movies and TV shows.”

“You got to quit drinking beer when you watch TV, Bob. Your fact and fiction are mixing. You know Paul was just entertainment, right? He wasn’t real.”

“That’s what the government wants you to think... they’re spoon feeding us the truth little by little. Pretty soon you’ll see... we’re going to have to fight for our right to exist when the bad ones come.”

“Now you’re bringing Independence Day to the mix. Surely you know that wasn’t real.”

“Like I said... spoon feeding. They don’t want us to be surprised when that day comes.”

Bob was getting worked up. The veins on his forehead were standing out and his face was getting red. “Calm down, Bob... you’re going to break something, and I don’t have my cell phone out here.”

“Well, it just ticks me off royally that the government thinks we’re so dumb we can’t handle the real story. Who do those guys think they are anyway? We oughtta throw the lot of them out on the street... or shoot ‘em.”

“Careful Bob, remember we have NSA right here in San Antonio... they probably hear everything you say.” Okay, that probably wasn’t very nice, but I had to find a way to shut Bob up. When he gets that way, he’ll follow you around bending your ear until you pass out. Besides, the lawn now was good and wet and I wanted to go inside to get some breakfast. ‘Maybe,’ I thought, ‘if I let the hose get away from me, it’ll soak Bob down and he’ll have to go home.’ Tempting as that idea was, it would have been rude... funny as heck, but rude. So I didn’t. I just shut down the nozzle, turned off the water, opened the nozzle to relieve the pressure, and coiled the hose. Bob stayed right on my heels.

“Those aliens are softening us up. Kids on video games all day long, religion crumbling around our ears, marriage rules breaking down... you know they want us all to be homo genius... that way it’ll be easy to for them to take us over. Bet they’ll have us decorating the interiors of their spaceships before the decade is out.”

I thought about telling Bob the word was “homogeneous” not “homo genius,” but that would have just kept him going. I wasn’t going to take that chance. Instead, I grabbed a carpenter’s pencil and a scrap of paper from my work bench, scribbled a web address and handed it to Bob. “Here, go look this up on the net... I think you’ll find it enlightening.”

Bob raised the scrap to better view it. He read the inscription. “alienfoolthoughts@gullible.org,” said, “That’s a great idea!” 

I watched him retreat toward home. I know... it was mean, but at least I got to eat my breakfast in peace.

TREK WARRIOR - The Chronicles of Katlil - Part II

© S. Bradley Stoner

-II-

The Wynan Witch

The Wynan Range seened to grow as Katlil approached it during those final two days on the Plain of Woe. He had a single encounter with a Gardon on the next to last day. It had approached him, stiff legged and menacing, in broad daylight. Unusual for a nocturnal beast. Katlil could feel the pain in the diseased animal’s brain, sense it’s confused thoughts. When he balanced the lance, it’s gleaming, razor sharp cosmetal tip aimed stratight at the tormented creature, the Gardon had neither flinched nor turned away. Katlil’s aim was true, the sharp point of the lance driving through each of the brute’s two hearts, dropping it where it stood. It was a mercy. Katlil retrieved the lance, rubbed the tip and shaft in the dry grit of the desert floor to remove the blood. Ordinarily he would have stopped to butcher the animal, for food was a scarce commodity here, but he left the animal for the scavengers, and doubted that even they would touch it.

Far above, the eyes of the sky eagle conveyed to Katlil that no more Gardons were near. The threat over, he resumed the journey. Already he could see the rusted gray boulders of the Wynans and, beyond them, caught a glimpse of the Black Glass Peaks reflecting and rainbowing the rays of the early suns’ rising. He would not take the paths of past Trek Warriors’ maps. They had all proved fruitless in penetrating the Wynan and, although they indicated the Black Glass Peaks that lay far beyond the Wynan, they remained an unattained goal. Even the Great Bouran had failed to find a passable passage. All, however, had recorded that the gentle rise of the range was deceptive, for when the apex was reached, the far side ended in a precipitous drop to a bottomless abyss with no apparent way down. It was as if a giant blade had riven the back of the range, leaving shear, smooth cliffs as evidence of its butchery. Now, only a half a day from the foot of the range, Katlil used the eagle to seek a new path.

The sky eagle soared far above, it’s keen eyes scanning the ground, feeding the images to his telepath. Katlil’s brain quickly processed the information without ever losing its focus on the terrain surrounding him. There was still danger lurking and he dare not lose awareness while the search of the Wynans progressed. Finally, Katlil spotted a possible passage through the eagle’s eyes and commanded the bird to follow it. The narrow gorge eventually opened to reveal a broad valley unlike any Katlil had ever seen. This was very possibly the fabled route through the range. Katlil recalled the sky eagle and angled his path to intercept the opening to the narrow gorge. It cost him an extra half day to reach it, but just as the suns fell, he made his camp just inside the walls of the gorge, gathering the last of the fire stones he would see for the remainder of his journey. Only the Plain of Woe held those magical rocks, and it was impractical to carry them with him.

With the suns gone, the night temperature plunged and there was a dampness to the gorge that Katlil had not felt in the rest of the arid world he had traveled. There were new sounds and new scents that had to be sorted in his mind. Were they benign or dangerous? He knew not, for none had been recorded in the journals. This was, indeed, a new path not trod by any Trek Warrior heretofore. It took all of Katlil’s will to suppress the sense of excitement he felt. In his heart, he knew this obscure opening in the Wynan Range would lead him eventually to the Glass Peaks. And, as he settled in for the night, he allowed himself to imagine what might be found there and beyond. His last thought before sleep was of the Book Asan. Could it be atop one of those foreboding mountains?

The old crone sensed his coming from the cave near the middle of the gorge. She sensed the danger he represented, should he pass through the portals she had guarded for more than two centuries. She would send the lap lizards to scout his progress in the morning, hearing through their ears, seeing through their eyes. At one time, she would not have needed them, but her powers were waning as she approached the end of her span. Oh, she could still cast the spells, but even they lacked the strength to linger long. Once she had been the most powerful witch in the Wynans, but no more. She glanced at the beguiling figure of her novitiate and recalled in the murky depths of her mind when she had been the beguiler, silky of skin, lithe of body, sharp of mind. Now all those things faded. Her once beautiful skin now sagged in unsightly folds. Her once full golden mane now hung white and stringy. He eyes once clear and piercing blue, now were milky from too many days in the harshness of the twin suns. Once tall, proud, and shapely, she was now bent and flacid. Her days were coming to an end.

It had taken too long for the people to choose a novitiate to replace the one she had spent years training. The one who had ventured beyond the mouth of the gorge against the old crone’s warnings. The one whose spell had failed to stop the attack of the Gardon pack. The one who had squandered her life and all of the years of training. And now, the old witch could not be certain she would have the novitiate ready when the wraiths came for her at the end of her days. So, she kept vigil and cast learning spells to dance in the mind of the young beauty while she slept. Had she been even a hundred years younger, she would have envied the firmness of they young one’s breasts, the roundness of her hips, the gentle oval of her face, and the magnificent mane of golden hair. But now, the old one was beyond envy... beyond tired, yearning for the great rest that she dare not take until the girl was ready to protect the secrets of the valley.

As the suns rose, the old woman got her first glance of the intruder. He was as if chiseled from the stone of the gorge, steely eyed, fluid of motion. Her mind screamed, “DANGER!” Could it be? Could this mountain of a man be one of the fabled Trek Warriors from beyond the Plain? In an instant, she saw the upraised hand and issued a mental warning to the old lap lizard, but it was too late. She felt the sharp stab of the dart and the vision went black. Her piercing scream woke the novitiate, who sprang to her feet and rushed to the old woman.

Katlil retrieved the lizard and removed the dart. In short order he was enjoying the first real food he’d had in days. He rolled the succulent meat over his tongue, savoring the smoky flavor of roast lizard, contemplating the next leg of his journey.

To be continued... after another brief hiatus while I continue to work on a non-fiction book.