Cave rabies

Storms regularly crash into the Isles of Kela and Pera, sweeping across them in varying degrees of anger. Some will dissipate as they try to pass the mountains and others will keep raging until they eventually pass out over the ocean. Their path will take them over parts of Isla Pera that are not used to high winds and heavy rain. Areas like the ashlands.

The mixture of sand, dust and ash that are the signature feature of the ashlands risk becoming vast amounts of mud and fast-moving sludge during storms. The rain has already been lashing down for hours. Zenobia’s herd has had the sense to keep sheltered for most of the day, spreading themselves out amongst a low-ceiling cave system. Considerable energy is spent keeping the territory carnivore-free, but in this storm, if any of them felt brazen enough…they could invade the territory and find a whole herd of vulnerable styracosaurus. Zenobia is not complacent. Guards are posted throughout the day, stood like stony guardians out in the rain. 

If she must be kept indoors because of the weather then Zenobia will still conduct business regardless. Her current secondaries meet with her in the mouth of a shallow cave. The wind whistles in, bringing a chill with it and the fine spray of rain. She occasionally shakes out her spindly crest with a small shiver. As she discusses matters of expansion, her only son - her legacy - is scuffling about the other side of the cave mouth.

He too is having very important discussions.

“-do carnivores fart?” Ghazi asks innocently. “Y’know, ‘cause…you don’t eat plants and stuff. I know some of the herd farts, especially after the dark grass and burdock leaves over in the meadow.”

His conversation partner is Buglawton, a young Cryolophosaurus. A carnivore.

Several seasons ago, Buglawton had been caught following both Ghazi and Zenobia through the territory. A wayward hatchling who had strayed from the nest or had been abandoned. In a surprising act of mercy from Zenobia, she accepted the little meat eater into her immediate family. Never quite treating him like a son, she did however still put care and attention into how he was raised. The first carnivore to be part of her herd, raised specifically for the purpose of having sharp teeth and claws for defense. And attack.

He was also to be a close companion to her son Ghazi, so that they might become a formidable pair in her future plans. 

“Of course I fart. You have to fart. Or else you would just…keep getting bigger…all full of gas,” Buglawton replies, with a considered and fairly intelligent answer.

The pair walk and shuffle around the cave, scrambling up and down the various little plateaus or attempting to climb up the stalagmites. Occasionally they will stop and glance over to the adults nearer the entrance of the cave. With the rain and wind and the strange way that sound bounces around caves, there was nothing interesting to be gleaned from the snatched words. But that also meant they could talk at ease and would not be at risk of drawing the adults’ attention.

Content to leave the grown ups to their grown up things, the pair continue to conquer the unmapped lands of the cave, though never straying too far into darkness. The rule was ‘if you can’t see your own feet then its too dark.’ They walk past slimy stalagmites whilst also feeling the drip from stalactites above. They even see a few shaky columns where both have met in the middle. 

“I dare you to lick one,” Ghazi goads his carnivore pseudo sibling.

The pair are stood on either side of a large stalagmite. It glistens in what little light has made it this far into the cave. Buglawton leans in and very…very…slowly…sniffs it. There is a little pause and then he sniffs again. His nose wrinkles first, the rest of his maw follows. 

“I…dare…you,” Ghazi repeats his challenge. 

Buglawton glares at him. 

“What? Too scared? You a little baby mouse? Lil baby bug? HAH BABYBUG! New name for you! BABYBUG, BABYBUG, BABYBUG, BABYBUG,” Ghazi begins to chant.

The chubby little styracosaurus starts to prance around both the stalagmite and Buglawton, swaying his little crest from side to side in time to some silent rhythm. Buglawton is not bothered at first but as Ghazi continues and shows no signs of letting up in the incessant little chorus, he starts to knot his brow.

“Will you stop if I do it?! Like seriously…stop…you can’t sing,” Buglawton finally replies, frustrated.

Ghazi comes to a slow stop, shifting seamlessly from his merry little prance to a slow walk as he sidles up to Buglawton. 

“My singing is amazing…but fine, I’ll leave you alone if you lick the cave rock,” Ghazi concedes.

“Elbowsies! Or its not real,” Buglawton demands.

Ghazi gives him a mildly shocked and upset look, but he agrees. The young sty lifts one fore-leg high enough to expose his elbow. Buglawton, tall and lanky because of his species, bends his knees a little and extends his elbow to touch Ghazi’s. In the world of youngsters, this was an unbreakable bond. An ironclad contract. If they touched elbows then whatever the pact was, it must be fulfilled, or else some terrible curse would befall them. Like having to eat the most bitter vegetables every day for the rest of your life. 

Buglawton is already regretting this. He looks again at the wet stalagmite, hoping it is covered in water and not slime. He recalls the smell from moments ago. Mostly mineral-y. Not far from that wet-earth smell on rainy days like these. He leans in again and slowly opens his mouth. All of a sudden his tongue feels so dry, his mouth feels like sand. Why was this taking so long? Had time suddenly stopped? He can hear the sound of blood rushing in his head. Its not that bad. Its not that bad its not that its not that bad…

With a sudden lunge, Buglawton quickly licks the stalagmite and winces. 

Stale water. Chalky minerals. The hint of something acidic and bitter. A feeling of crawling in his mouth. And that was just a small taste!

“That wasn’t a proper lick!” Ghazi whines in protest. He wanted to see a huge disgusted reaction from the carnivore.

“Yes it was!” Buglawton insists. “See? I bet you can still see the muck on my tongue. AAAHHHHHHH…”

The Cryolophosaurus child opens his mouth wide and essentially lets his tongue hang loose. Ghazi inspects, with all the seriousness of a judge at an agriculture show. There is no muck or dirt.  He is disappointed, and shows it. The dubious look on his face is unmistakable. But Buglawton is not keen to lick the stalagmite again. He needs a way out of this, a distraction, a change of subject, ANYTHING. 

“…you can tell I licked it because…because…I’m getting sick! Yeah sick! See, I’m starting to come out in spots,” Buglawton mentally scrambles for a ploy.

Ghazi is unmoved by his friend’s plight. He stands there and just looks deadpan at Buglawton.

“You’ve been covered in spots since the day I met you,” was his droll reply.

“…and I’m all hot and sticky…and drooling look,” at which point Buglawton impressively manages to set off a thick, heavy saliva drip from his little mouth. He smacks his jaws a little to spray the saliva, forcing Ghazi to flinch slightly and lift a foot to avoid getting spit on.

Ghazi still does not look wholly convinced, but as Buglawton continues to spiral his symptoms and act out of sorts, the little sty begins to wonder.

“…oh…its all going dark…where are you Ghazi…I can’t see you any more…are you still there?” Buglawton is thoroughly diving into his performance now.

“…okay, you can…stop playing now…nobody gets this sick this quickly…” Ghazi inches backwards a little. He manages a very quick glance over his shoulder to see that his mother is still somewhere nearby.

Buglawton snatches a devilish smirk in that little gap where Ghazi’s attention is elsewhere.

“…I’m hungry…I need to eat…” he lets out a growl and allows more drool to drip from his mouth.

Ghazi looks part fearful and part angry.

“You wouldn’t dare! It was rule number one when we rescued you in the ashlands and you know it! Mother would smush you into a pulp,” Ghazi argues.

Buglawton stays in character and never utters a word, just creeps closer. He lowers his body in true stalker style, and slowy splays out his arms to reveal his (still child-sized) claws. Ghazi is fighting internally to remain steadfast against the carnivore for several reasons - he never wanted to be scared of carnivores, ever; he shouldn’t be afraid of Buglawton, they had known each other for years now, he was like family; sickness like this didn’t exist…did it?

The little stay peddles backwards, his footing occasionally unsteady on bits of cave debris.

“…Bug-law-ton…?” Ghazi stammers.

“…rrrrrrrrrrr…” Buglawton responds, trying very hard to stifle the laughter. He gives a very dramatic sweep upwards and opens his arms wide, giving his friend the chance to start running before he chases him.

The movement was swift enough to make Ghazi leap upwards. On his landing, he turns heel very quickly and begins to speed towards the cave mouth. Where his mother is. 

Buglawton gives chase, making all kinds of overly acted and unrealistic growls and snarls. A cartoon version of a carnivore. The drooling has stopped at least. And he wouldn’t have to lick another stalagmite ever again.