IoF Stories: Milestone 3, Fishoil | Laugom, Vozgall, (Tatlitli)

Milestone 3 for Laugom if108 and Vozgall if113

Barnacle Scrub Event entry for Tatlitli aq696

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The trip had been well-planned. Tatlitli's idea of a plan always stopped as soon as the barest bones of it had been laid, because few plans survived contact with wily prey. Laugom wasn't a planner at all, and typically just flowed wherever the currents of chance took him. But, with Vozgall going along, it could be nothing less than well-planned. She was far too much of a homebody to tolerate anything less.

 

Getting sick, however, had certainly not been planned. But then, when was sickness ever planned?

 

Tatlitli remained untouched and unbothered by the mild yet miserable ailment that had befallen Vozgall and Laugom. For her, this trip was going exactly as planned, and she was already trawling up the beach, surrounded by a gaggle of eager root chompers.

 

Vozgall, who'd had the most aggravating journey here, was the most miserable by far. Clinging to Laugom for the long, wet stretches between spits and spurs of land was not the woldren's idea of fun, for all that the destination had been talked up as something really special. Now she couldn't shake the feeling of salt from her fur no matter how much she itched and scritched and scratched, and she was far too hot, both from the sickness and from the local climate. Tatlitli claimed it was winter here, but that only proved nowhere but Vozgall's homeland knew how to do winter properly.

 

Tatlitli didn't even have to do her own scratching. Those root chompers were raring at the chance to peel every crunchy barnacle off her scales. The sounds were rather alarming.

 

"I am never, ever, doing this again," Vozgall swore. "By every star and snowflake, I won't do it. I just won't. You hear that, Laugom? Don't you ever even ask, because my answer is no. I just won't do it."

 

"Looks like the barnacles won't be doing anything again, either. I thought for sure Tatlitli was exaggerating, but I should've known better - she never does. Look at that, Vozgall!" He paused to snort once, twice, and then dunked his head into the surf for good measure. "They really are gobbling those nasty barnacles right off of Tatiltli. Incredible, innit mate?"

 

Vozgall gave up the dream of being dry. Laugom, damn him and all his crazy ideas, had the right idea in this specific situation, loathe as she was to admit it. She staggered back down the beach and slumped onto the wet sand, letting the foamy seawater rush up around her and drag some of the heat away. "Mrphghn," she burbled. She was too miserable to be impressed by anything at the moment.

 

"You're a real wet rag when you get wet, mate." Laugom's head rolled in the sand, aiming one eye vaguely in the direction of a returning Tatlitli, who sloughed across the beach to them and deposited a crude wooden vessel in the sand.

 

"Tonic."

 

Tatlitli spoke in her usual, curt, no-nonsense tone, heedless of the stubby little root chomper hatchling clinging stubbornly to her neck and gnawing doggedly at a barnacle there. Laugom sniggered. Tatlitli ignored him too.

 

Vozgall eyed the so-called tonic. "What... is it, exactly?"

 

"Gift from the root chompers. They get a sickness like what you two got. Maybe their cure will help you."

 

Vozgall groaned. Here she was, strewn across an unfamiliar, utterly snowless beach like a soggy heap of driftwood, and now plied with mysterious, extremely suspect miracle cures. What a day this was.

 

...on the other paw, if the stuff really could help alleviate this miserable illness, then...

 

Grimacing, Vozgall tried a slurp of the tonic.

 

Meanwhile, the root chomper hatchling had emerged victorious from the fearsome battle with Tatlitli's neck barnacle. Another root chomper had appeared and started work on the next cluster, and Tatlitli rearranged her fins to allow easier access. She looked for all the world like royalty being doted upon by faithful attendants. Vozgall hoped that Laugom wouldn't say so - Tatlitli would be terribly offended by such a comparison.

 

"How is it, mate?" Laugom wanted to know.

 

Vozgall did not gag. She did not. She breathed slowly and carefully, rejoicing in the fact that the salty air was not more tonic. "It's good," she croaked. "Urp, great, actually, yeah. You should try some. I can feel myself getting better already."

 

Laugom fell for it: hook, line, and sinker. 

 

Tatlitli shook her head at both of the gagging, moaning dragons, and reached out to scoop up the root chomper hatching with a broad forefin. "Come here, pup," she told the hatchling. "Won't find any barnacles on that hairy land-dweller. Leave 'em to their nonsense. There's naught else to do."