Distracted by my joyous musings, it takes me an extra second to register the slimy fibrous...thinggroping my shoulders and neck.
“Ahh!” I shriek, leaping back as my heart threatens to burst out of my chest, clutching my shovel like a battle axe. “That is so FUCKING DISGUSTING!” I flail, wiping away the disgusting mucus clinging to my skin.
“Aw, look! He likes you,” Sandra howls with laughter.
The blue-dominant-shelled snarlbroc tentacles twitch, languidly grasping the air toward me as if it’s aiming to fondle my breasts.
“Eww, it reminds me of Micheal,” I grumble, my face twisting in disgust, my lovely fantasy fading before my eyes. Sandra only laughs harder.
“Hey, Celutok, is Micheal’s shell worth much?” I ask, backing away from the slimy advances, my eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Micheal?” Celutok echoes with a short laugh, then squints at the snarlbroc, frowning. “Hmm, decent spiral pattern, but with that strong blue... I doubt it’d fetch much.” He shakes his head with finality.
“Of course Micheal would be worthless... he always was.” I mutter with a sigh of disappointment.
“Alright, females!” Celutok booms, tossing another shovel-full of filth into the stone wagon. “A fine job, indeed.” He gestures to encompass the stone pen, now slightly less revolting, with patches of black rocky ground visible beneath the muck.
“I think we probably slowed you down more than helped,” Sandra replies generously, wiping a mix of ash and sweat from her forehead.
Speak for yourself, I was totally bossing this out!
“Nonsense!” Celutok waves a dismissive, muck-covered hand. “Besides, it’s pleasant to have some company. It can get lonely out here on the cliffs of Scarn.” He nods, his smile genuine.
Sandra beams back, “Well, we don’t mind...”Oh no, she’s not going to say it, is she?“Helping out again...” She glances at me.No, no! Don’t look at me!“Right, Lexie?”
Crap!
I glance between the two of them, my mind grasping for an excuse. “Um... maybe... I mean, it depends on the big bore, and, you know... the rituals and stuff...” My sheepish smile only adds to the cringe that’s pulling my stomach down to my poop-covered shoes.
“I see...” Celutok’s gaze flicks between us before he looks downcast. “Well, anytime you’re willing. I know, me and...” He gestures to the slimy snarlbrocs lumbering around. “My herd would appreciate your help.” He moves toward a lock, fiddling with it before swinging open a stone gate. “Alright, let’s get this lot fed.”
My heart sinks with disappointment. “There’s more?” I glance at Sandra, who nods with an almost smug smile.Ugh. “Oh... goodie,” I mutter with a sigh.
“Here you go,” Celutok hands me a long stone spear with triple pointy bits.
“Um...” I grimace, taking the weapon. Its weight nearly pulls me off balance. “Oaf... What do we needthisfor?”
Celutok marches over to Sandra, who looks equally off-kilter as he hands her a similar spear. “To keep them moving.” He pauses, sucking in a massive breath, and I frown, sensing something ominous coming.
Then, at full volume: “GET A MOVE ON, YOU LAZY ZNATS!”
I jump, screaming involuntarily, my spine snapping to attention at the deafening roar. He slams his spear on the ground, making strange, guttural noises as he attempts to herd the snarlbrocs out of the pen.
“Give me a hand?” he asks, as if he didn’t just blow out my eardrums.
Sandra loops around behind the herd, screaming, “AHH!” as she flails her heavy spear in the air. Between her wild shrieking and Celutok’s deep, guttural roars, they both look and sound like two angry gorillas escaping a zoo.
The snarlbrocs creep toward the opening, leaving trails of white mucus in their wake. A few try to peel off, but Celutok’s there in a flash, jabbing them with his spear, bellowing at them to get back in line.
I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. The whole thing looks so ridiculous. Then, to my surprise, I find myself joining the fray.
“RAWR!” I bellow, jabbing my spear at their shells, though the weight of it strains my arms. Sandra erupts into infectious laughter, and soon we’re both doubled over in hysterics, gasping for breath between bouts of screaming obscenities at giant snail monsters in the middle of a black volcanic wasteland.
It’s oddly... cathartic.
Eventually, the snarlbrocs are slithering in a surprisingly neat line, lazily making their way out of the pen. Celutok drives them from behind, every so often patrolling the herd to nudge the more curious ones back into formation.
“Good job! That was fast,” he mutters as he strides past Sandra and me.
