Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
"Snailpocalypse?" Devi muses. "Does that have a better ring to it?"
It all sounds like nonsense to me. "How much time do we have before the snails arrive? Hours? Days?"
"Oh, it'll be a few weeks, I think. Last time they arrived, I noticed that all the seaweed was getting coated by this thick mucus. I couldn't identify what was causing it, so I thought perhaps there was just a particularly rotten patch of seaweed that had washed up, but once the nautili arrived, it all made sense. The entire beach was a little slimy while they were here. And then there were the eggs."
Uh oh. "Did we...eat the eggs?"
"What? Of course not. We're not monsters." She looks appalled at the thought.
April will be relieved to hear that, and I am glad I asked. So many unspoken rules that we are expected to be aware of. "No huts until they leave, no combat, and do not eat the eggs," I state, repeating the rules for the upcoming scenario. "I think I understand. Observation only."
"Precisely. We study them as scientifically and unobtrusively as we can so our data is as pristine as possible." She beams at me. "You get it."
I do now. I appreciate this female and her data methods. It sounds like there are a great deal of rules, and I perform best with rules. "Do you think there is time for me to go to the fruit cave and return before I am needed for anything?"
Her gaze refocuses on me, and it is as if she's hearing me for the first time. "Fruit cave? What for?"
"A flower," I say for the dozenth time in this conversation. "I am in need of a perfect flower."
"Does it have to be a living, blooming flower? Because that's going to be impossible to transport from the fruit cave back to the beach without it wilting from the cold. Do we need the entire root system or just the flower itself?"
My mind is awake with possibilities.
Does it have to be a living, blooming flower?
No, no it does not. That was never part of the deal. Like with the creature April has taken as a pet, as long as I provide a flower of some kind, it does not matter if it is a real flower or not. Devi is still talking to herself, her mind working out the logistics of trying to bring an entire plant from the warm cave back to the cold beach. I cut her off. "What can I make a flower out of?"
She blinks at me. "Anything, really? You could make the petals out of leather, or seashells, or even seaweed." Devi flicks the slicked seaweed off her stick. "Maybe not this seaweed."
"But I can craft something?" I prompt. "Can you give me the rules?"
Her gaze grows distant, and then she gasps. "Cephalopocalypse! Oh, that's a much better name! I have to tell N'dek!" Delight crosses her face and she races off.
"Devi!" I yell after her, chasing the distractable female. "You were going to tell me how to craft a flower!"
I try a few different materials, but in the end, leather makes the best flower. There are scraps of it in with the community supplies, and I pick out bits that are made of pleasing colors. This one is a soft red, this other piece a pale yellow. I cut them all into small, regular shapes and work on forming it into a flower, based off what my memory tells me a flower looks like. I sew the bases of the petals together around a stem, and one of the human females — Bianca — sees what I am doing and tries to give advice.
"Make it like a rose," she says, and flicks one of the limp petals I've been painstakingly working on. "No one wants that floppy business hanging down."
Why does everyone have advice and none of it is useful? "I don't know what a rose looks like."
She takes my flower from my hands and demonstrates. "They're a flower at home that has curled petals. Since the leather is soft, it'll probably look better." She tucks the petals together, like they are hugging each other, and it forms a strange little bud. But her version does seem improved from mine, so I take it from her with an appreciative grunt. She indicates the center of the flower. "Now you just need something for the middle."
"The center?" These foolish demands are endless. I sigh heavily. "Show me already."
By the time the flower is done, most of the day has gone and several people around the camp have offered their advice on my creation. I should put all the dark petals on the outside and the lighter within. A rose does not need a center, comments another. The rib bone I am using for the stem is curved and that is wrong, says another. I should add thorns and leaves, says a third.