The Waterwood Box, 50

Catch up!

Whether the person who spoke was male or female, Adam couldn’t quite tell.  The only hair on the water-folk flowed long and blue from their heads. Their skin was a pale shade of green, smooth all over, and their faces and arms appeared almost human. Most interesting, though, was that the lower half of the water-folk was a scaly, strong fish tail. They’re mermaids! Adam thought, though he kept it to himself and instead asked, “Why was Frear right?” Adam asked.

“No Tiskaloon would ask who built the zigga.”

“Why not?” Adam thought his question was reasonable.

“We do not remember, or we have chosen to forget, who built the zigga. All we know is that they are here, as models for our lives and our community.”

“The strength to stand as one pushes us all toward the surface,” recited all four water-folk in unison.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Adam.

“To Frear. They’ve been expecting you for some time. Frear had hoped you would find your way to Tiskaloo. It was too dangerous to send a search party out for you.”

Adam was shocked. “How did Frear know I was coming here?” Adam asked as the manta overhead rose upward in a spiraling motion. The Urchin Army was leaving Tiskaloo and Adam behind.

“News moves fast through Ocean’s water,” came a familiar voice from behind a small, coral structure to Adam’s right. First came the voice, then came the stripes.

“SPOT!” Adam yelled.

“AdamadamadamitsgoodtoseeyouIwassoworriedbecauseIgotheresomuchquickerthanyoudidbutthenImalotfasterthanamantabutstill…” Spot paused just long enough for Adam to reach out and hug his friend.

“It’s good to see you, Spot.”

“Well, it’s good to be seen, Adam.”

The water-folk led the pair through the winding streets and alleys of Tiskaloo or, as the water-folk called the blue section of their city, Tiskabloo. Adam giggled when he heard this name. “What do you call the other two sections?”

A Tiskaloon named Yaz, replied, “Why, Pinkaloo and Tiskyelloo, of course.” At which both Adam and Spot laughed and laughed. The water-folk shrugged them off as silly tourists and continued to lead the pair on, to wherever the one named Frear waited.

The Waterwood Box, 50

Sock it to me

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