Prologue Stories: Another Failed Potion, Prehistoric, Play Dead, Eye of Newt, Had We Just, Eavesdropper, Cat Rocks

Lizardo found it unsettling that he was on the move. This time it was to Cat Rocks in the Grotto.

Cat Rocks is a safe haven, Lizardo.

His late mother’s voice was a reassurance. But still, he did not like being dislodged.

Arnold, the flying pig, hovered beside him silently as the large lizard lumbered over the rocks and through the foliage.

“I’ve never been to Cat Rocks,” admitted Arnold. He sounded happy. And that is because he was always happy.

Lizardo didn’t glance up or utter a word. This forced migration troubled him.

The Peckuliars are trying, honey. You will be back home soon.

Again, Lizardo remained silent but offered a slight, understanding nod to his mother’s kind and soothing words.

Arnold tried again. “How long does it take to get there?”

Lizardo expelled an enormous sigh of frustration. Being on the move was the worst, but having an ever-cheerful, fluttering pig beside him was maddening.

Lizardo stopped walking and turned to face Arnold.

Lizardo! Be nice or stay quiet!

His mother’s voice was stern. He wanted to yell at his friend. Arnold fluttered patiently, waiting for Lizardo to speak, but no words came.

“How about I Spy?” suggested Arnold

“Sure”, grumped Lizardo.

“I spy something that is big, green, and grumpy. “

And so, the two made their way through the forest, en route to the Grotto.

The boy buzzards continued to circle overhead. They didn’t have to flap their wings; strong thermal winds held them aloft, allowing them to glide for hours. These menacing silhouettes in the sky created pandemonium on the ground.

Eavesdropper
Prehistoric and the Wretched Buzzards

All but the cats took cover.

The cats strategized their defence. But they couldn’t be in all places at once. They just tried to protect where the buzzards might attack. Their unique version of defensive flanking was their best chance – keep the buzzards moving, exhaust them. What they didn’t count on was the warm thermals the birds were riding high in the air on. This allowed them to rest. But these winds wouldn’t last. The sun was moving toward the horizon, and the land was cooling. The buzzards would eventually have to set down.

The cats were not afraid of the buzzards. Yes, they were bigger, but the cats were agile and expertly maneuverable. They created the protection that was needed for the small, soft creatures.

Cat Rocks

It is always the smallest that are the fiercest, and Marty fit the bill. She was just not having any of this. The terror in the sky was disruptive on a massive scale. She wanted everyone to return to their happy lives.

On patrol, Marty noted where everyone was hiding. She walked around frequently to check on them. Out of the corner of her eye, something small and white was flapping in the dry bramble. Marty inquisitively walked over. It was a letter. “How odd,” she thought. But then she remembered Snailer was here, hiding in a rocky outcrop. Marty scooped up the letter and made her way over to him.

Snailer, a Flower-Shelled Snail, along with his friends, had tucked themselves into a pop-up thicket, a tough patch of vegetation nestled in the rocks.

“Hey! All OK in there?” called Marty, lifting a large leaf and peering underneath.

A collective YES! resounded.

“Here you go,” Marty said, handing Snailer the letter, finishing with, “Now, back to the fight!” She turned on her heel and departed.

Snailer looked at the letter. “No stamp, no problem,” thought Snailer. Since he worked at Canada Post, he always had a stamp. He licked the stamp and affixed it to the top-right corner of the letter. Turning to his best friend Tuddy, he said, “Best be off!” Tuddy pleaded with him, but Snailer had a letter to deliver, a job to do.

A Very Slow Parade
Snailer with Tuddy, Yellow, and Warpole

“My flower-shell is hard-coded. I’m protected!” He said, reassuring Tuddy, who looked very sad and scared. Yellow, the big-bellied canary, reached over to Tuddy and said, “He’ll be okay. We got him,” referring to their other friends under the canopy of leaves.

Snailer was relieved. Then he looked at the address on the letter, pointed himself toward the Beaches and began his long, slow, and admirable journey.