“Here, you go.” Celutok grins, handing each of us a massive shovel—more like a snowplow than a normal spade.
“Excuse me?” I blink in disbelief, instinctively taking the shovel from him like I’m a condemned prison worker.
“I’ve already given the herd their water, but you females can help muck out their pens and stalls. After that, we’ll take them grazing.” Farmer Letdown passes the sentence down like it’s actually a good thing.
“Wow, hold on a second here.” I whirl on Sandra, grimacing. “Do you owe him money or something?” I lower my voice, leaning in like we’re planning a snail monster heist. “If you’re in trouble, I’m pretty sure we can get Dracoth to change his mind.”
Sandra flinches at my oh-so-sound advice. “No, I just thought it’d be... fun.”
“Fun?”My eyes flick to the pen, where the revolting creatures are dipping their slimy, splotchy heads into the water trough. “We haveverydifferent definitions of fun, Sandra.” I glare at her, wondering how I missed the fact that she’s completely lost her mind.
Sandra just shakes her head. “I used to work on the Campbells’ farm back home... I thought it might make me feel better.”
With that, she readies her shovel and joins Celutok, the two of them cheerfully scooping up foul-smelling piles of glistening white sludge.
I scrunch my face, feeling an odd pang of sympathy.How does she do that?Somehow, I’m the one duped into shoveling poop, yet she’s the one I feel bad for.
It’s like her superpower.
I sigh, feeling the weight of the shovel in my hand.Great. I’m about to do something incredibly stupid.
“What’s a little giant snail monster shit between friends, right?” I mutter to myself as I trudge over to join them.
“That’s the spirit!” Celutok cheers, and weirdly, I feel a flicker of pride.
Yeah, this is it... the start of my Little House on the Prairie journey.Except here I am, squelching through snail monster muck, my shoes making grotesque sucking noises in the mucus-like white filth.
“Eww. Eww,” I chant like a mantra, my face twisted in disgust.
Pretty sure they didn’t show this part on TV.
I shove my snowplow-sized spade into a fresh, steaming pile of droppings, the weight almost throwing me off balance. My feet sink deeper into the muck with every step, and just as I’m waddling forward, my foot slips on a luminous, slimy patch. Myheart leaps into my throat as I flail, desperately trying not to face-plant into the snarlbroc sludge.
“Careful, now,” Celutok warns, steadying me with a firm hand and a warm smile. I almost drop my shovel, my heart racing. That was close—way too close. There isn’t enough scalding water in this entire mountain to scrub off the filth if I fell into this muck.
I give him a shaky smile before resuming my cautious shuffle toward the massive stone trailer, already piled high with steaming piles of feces. My nose crinkles under the stinky assault as I grunt and tip the contents of my shovel onto the growing mound. A cloud of black flies erupts, buzzing around like they’re at a poop rave.
So. Gross.
“Aren’t they pretty?” Sandra asks, her shovel scraping loudly against the rocky ground as she scoops up more mucus-like sludge.
Maybe the volcano has cooked her brain?
I try to ignore the sucking, squelching noise my shoes make as I approach more muck.
“Ah, no, Sandra.” I glare at her as she ogles one of the disgusting creatures. “They’re all slimy and hideous. Just like my ex-boyfriends.”
Sandra snorts. “But look at their shells.” She gestures toward one with her shovel, admiring the creature like it’s the Mona Lisa.
I begrudgingly take a closer look, trying to block out the grossness. Its shell really is something—speckled with glowing hues of blue, purple, and green, like an alien gemstone. I imagine them glowing even brighter under a moonlit sky.
“I mean, if you ignore the actual creature. Yeah... then I guess they’re kind of pretty.” I admit, the most generous compliment I can give.
“Their shells fetch a fine price,” Celutok grunts, moving like a man on a mission, his lifetime of experience showing as he does about ten shovels to our one. “Ornaments, jewelry, even instruments—they use the shells for all sorts of things. If you get one with a nice spiral pattern and vibrant colors?” He whistles. “Worth a fortune in credits.”
“You don’t say...” I mumble, eyeing the snarlbrocs with newfound appreciation. My fantasy of becoming a rough-and-tumble pioneer woman is quickly solidifying. Yeah, I could totally do this—the rough-and-ready gal with the cowboy hat and the cheeky smile, selling these colorful shells.
Ahh, money... how I miss you.
