My final hug from the other human porters was garlic-scented and tighter than rope, “I’m gonna miss you Sybil- hey, in case we meet on the mud flats out east, give me a shout…okay?” Garlic-lady’s voice warbles a little at the end but it’d be rude to point that out.

I nod into the rough shirt and that buys my freedom, which I use to look up at my soon-to-be former travel companions and try to memorize their faces; it’s easier thanks to the forehead trick but I still have to take little breaks when trying to look at their various suntanned faces. I lick my lips to wet them, the texture of dust against my tongue grounding me enough so I can get through this without shriveling up into a dried fruit from embarrassment.

“Thank you. For being nice to me,” Good job Sybil, kept your eyes locked on the group and all words could be heard.

I was engulfed in another group hug before the sweet release of air was reintroduced to my lungs. It’s worse because my head is about stomach height and they create some kind of seal, keeping me from breathing. My loud gasp after being released was only a little dramatic, but mostly warranted in my unbiased opinion. It earned me a group hair ruffle, which helped me lose some of the sadness at our parting.

Being a day’s walk away from Orlam, the ground has firmed up greatly from the loose sand and hilly dunes, instead a baked ground dotted with wan-looking plants stabbing out of the cracks in the sandy soil is what I stand on for the first time in a long time; it feels…sturdier, somehow, to me after many hours of finding my balance on loose sand. I got used to it, but the difference is very notable somehow.

I didn’t sleep enough last night, Walleye and Passenger decided to join the sleep pile and they also seek heat in their sleep. I was very smushed at the bottom of the pile of tails and snoring elves. The broom-like texture of the tail-hairs was just ticklish enough that in addition to the rough breathing, I was also mildly irritated the whole night. I’m going to look forward to sleep alone, just a little.

I’m still a little sad though.

Esterash is a little ways in the distance, where it’s still mostly sand, her horn jutting out of the ground; Cain stayed behind and has been slowly drilling a hole into the horn, having made an initial hole and rasping it wider. I’m not sure why but considering there’s no blood or anything I think the sandwhale can’t feel it, hopefully, I’m right about that. 

I’ll ask Walleye or Passenger when they next arrive, but one is off to the fort and the other is ordering what remains of the caravan to unpack small white tents that were apparently on the spider packs; not like I’ve had to keep spider inventory aside from guess where Mimzy was creeping on me from.

She’s currently doing this grinding hum-like sound that sources from her abdomen as I pet her lazily, half sprawled on the sand as I am. Her pedi-legs, the front ones, bap at me when my pets slow down so eventually I retaliate by pulling her onto my legs like a spider blanket. The rumbling that she makes only gets louder by this action and I hold onto one of her front-facing legs into a half-hearted handshake.

“I wonder what’ll happen when Ester unearths?” I ask out loud to the spider currently using my stomach as a drum for her undoubtedly nefarious purposes. It’s probably a good thing she’s not yet moving considering Cain is hanging onto her horn, but it’s not the fast explosion of movement like at the beginning. I have the sinking feeling that this was a delaying tactic…

I spring back up to where the sandwhale is and begin to dig down into the warm sand with my hands, though a dog-sized spider hugging my stomach makes my movements a little awkward. Plus, what if sand gets into Mimzy’s eyes? I sit up on my knees and manually rotate the clingy spider before she abruptly pops off and skitters over to Cain, who is busy detaching the various ropes he used to hang off the horn.

“There are easier ways of digging,” Cain informs me, cupping his hands around his mouth to better project his voice, but I get this feeling that it’ll be faster if I keep to my hands. Plus if I accidentally break a shovel or something then that’s out of my pay and I need that to travel. I habitually pat my chest and frown at the jingle from my inner pocket; ugh, money. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was softer sounding but the sound of metal is such a pain.

This inner pocket is ugly and the stitching is a little obvious even from the front, but it’s better than jingling when I walk; I did consider having an adult hold onto my coin or hiding it somewhere but there’s no guarantee that my stuff would still be there when I needed. A drawing of some strange tall dog with a built-in pocket to hold smaller dogs gave me the idea and after an afternoon and several finger stabbings, I managed to sew a pocket out of a rag I was offered.

I shake off the sand from my shirt and get back to digging, soon followed by Mimzy, who immediately showed me up in speed but not precision, as her multiple legs were mostly thrashing sand everywhere, including my hole.

Cain humored me by sweeping off the sand away from the slowly rising Esterash, but this was very inefficient.

“Wasn’t this faster earlier?” I complained while shifting away from the furiously digging and horribly aimed spider currently kicking up dust like she’s being paid to.

“Ester hasn’t ever had to surface in dirt as dense as this, even if she’s still technically in the sand. She’s discombobulated”

My face screws up and I sputter at a burst of grit at my face and I pick up the frantically wriggling Mimzy before slinging her onto my shoulder like a squirming, multilegged, bag.

“Hope that’s not infectious,” I say after spitting out whatever sand landed in my mouth. Hearth I’ve had enough of sand to last me for all time, “Why didn’t she stay under the sand or just unearth earlier?”

“She would’ve if her mother was here to help protect her but we were in a rush and weren’t able to afford extra security. I’ve been with this caravan since I was a little taller than you, helping my father and brother with the spiders and the human-elf interactions since I don’t have much of a smell, according to the boss; this is one of the stranger journeys, between guiding a runt sandwhale and plucking up a random child near a cursed riverbed.”

I stop digging and lock eyes with Cain, who gets darker cheeks and looks away first, “Good strange, I promise.” He says, refusing to meet my eyes again even when I get on my feet and try to chase his, this silly action devolving into a game where he throws me in the air over and over. It was fun.

HelloHound

A. I forgot to schedule this chapter and it was just, hanging out. B. I love long goodbyes but only when it comes to stories. If it's irl then it's like byeeee, but I got attached to these figments of my imagination