Aiding Atlantis

Today, Whittaker has learned that there are countless methods to crafting primitive glues. He'd never considered much on the art, as unrefined saps and animal tissues have always served just fine for crafting and whatnot, but a job such as mending the bio-dome which allowed Atlantis to thrive required more.. heavy duty materials.
It goes without saying that joining arms with the Iguanodon court has been a rather difficult adjustment. They differ greatly from his own pack, sporting far greater technological advancements than a measly Cryolophosaurus like himself could have dreamt to see. Time and time again, the Court has proved resourceful. By no means are hurdles few and far between within the bio-dome of Atlantis, yet.. the occupants thrive. By cultivating this vast canopy—the jungle that resides deep beneath the ocean's waves—they have engineered a solution to each and every problem they could be faced with. The jungle itself is the heart of all their necessities. It provides food, safety, and yes, even sticky adhesive strong enough to repair the cracking bio-dome.

His parents say this is an incredible achievement on the Court's part, but if one were to ask Whittaker, he'd say it was just nerd stuff. He could think of three other places he would rather be right now: sleeping, eating, or at the side of a particular ceratopsian he'd become great friends with.. none of which were really places, were they?

So, what could the royal court of Atlantis possibly need with a scrappy pack of Cryolophosaurus? What use did they have with such creatures, beyond their supposed obedience to the Queen herself? Whittaker's home pack hadn't opposed Queen Rhys, so naturally she had taken them in to work beneath her rule. If you're not against them, you're with them, he supposed. Their reverence, however, was not their sole use. In fact, it wasn't even their greatest use.
Cryolophosaurus are useful to the court's dome repair efforts for no reason other than their incredible sense of smell. They can track a wounded prey item for miles, scent voles beneath the ground, and—most importantly—catch the smell of salty ocean through hairline cracks in the dome's surface.

A singular splinter, no matter how minuscule, could very well result in the entire collapse of the dome. Queen Rhys would be none to pleased to find that her little helpers single-handedly caused the shattering of the bio-dome. Whittaker and his family needed to be thorough, and having the strongest sense of smell of any other beast residing within the island chain certainly helped in that aspect.

Talons on old stone clacked as Whittaker returned to his reluctant scan of the dome's perimeter. He'd just returned from a break, no longer than fifteen minutes, and had gone right back to pacing the very edge of the canopy, sniffing along the glass surface of the bio-dome. Hours upon hours of walking (only really two or three,) had brought him here: to this ruined temple of sorts. A massive, stone structure. Crumbling and nearly entirely overtaken with thick vines. Whittaker might have guessed that it was uninhabited, if not for the piles of crates that sat around and within the decrepit building.
The residents of the bio-dome seemed to use every square inch of it for their work. It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise that they were using this human structure as a storage place. What was in these crates? He couldn't tell. They smelled mostly of the wood they'd been crafted from, a particularly fragrant species. It smelled nutty, while the grain was far more dense than he'd have expected from some old boxes.

As much as he'd have liked to move on—the crates and rubble propped against the bio-dome were quite a deal too heavy for him to move alone—it was his job to investigate. Whittaker, despite his shortcomings, wasn't willing to put his pack at risk because he was too lazy to inspect every inch of the dome. He didn't want to do this. In fact, he'd have much rather been at his companion's side, fighting alongside his herd to harness the seeds Queen Rhys was so determined to spread across the islands. Mother would have never forgiven him if he opposed their ranks. The choice wasn't his to make.

Incessant snuffling, his muzzle practically pressed to the glass surface of the dome, he halted in his pacing. What tickled his nose was the cool scent of seaspray seeping through the glass. Salty, fishy and refreshing. The unmistakable smell of ocean just waiting to spill inside. So close, but.. hidden. Concealed behind the cargo he'd been inspecting moments prior. Of course the splinter was hidden behind a mass of inpenetrable crates.
Whittaker's feathers puffed as they made contact with the dome, his body slotting as close to the glass surface as he possibly could, so that he could tuck his muzzle between the wooden box, and the supposedly cracked surface beneath. The wood scraped at his scales, urging a grumble from the scavenger in question, before he was hit with an overwhelming wave of seafoam scent. It went without saying now, this glass was most certainly in need of repair. Judging off of his nose alone, this was quite the accident just waiting to happen if he left it untended.

How to move the crates? There were six of them, each about twice his size, all stacked against the glass in a varying array of items. Fragments of the structure littered the site as well. Thick stone beams, and particulates from the ruined walls strewn about the area. If he were just a little stronger, maybe he'd have tried moving all this cargo on his own.. but he wasn't very strong at all. In fact, Whittaker was quite scrawny. He wasn't going to entertain this idea at all.
As he ventured a few ideas, most of which included fetching help to move these obstructions, the Cryo slowly lowered himself to the stone floor below. His rump hit the ground with a thud, knees bent to support his weight as he sat. This was truly helpless. Would he even know the way back if he—

No longer than a two minutes after he'd sat down, a strong voice thundered out behind him,

"Hasn't her royalty ordered you lot to be working?"

A squeal, just as unbecoming as it sounded, rasped out of Whittaker's throat. He skittered to his feet, talons digging sharply into drab bricks below with a most unpleasant sound. Standing at attention, he spun, stood upright, and tipped his chin up to face the approaching behemoth.
An Iguanodon, a scowl scarring her face as she towered over him. Yes! This was it! This was exactly what he needed to move the boxes blocking his path. "Ah! Ah- ma'am!" Squawked Whittaker, now bouncing with excitement. The warrior who'd approached must have sensed his energy, as she was quick to crane her neck far away from him in supposed disgust at his abrupt reaction. Given the go ahead to speak further with nothing more than an expectant glare, the carnivore continued to his request. No need to beat around the bush with this bunch, he supposed.

"'Course, ma'am. I'm trying to work! But.. there is a crack behind those crates. I got a friend who's totally strong enough t'move 'em, but he's not here right now, so—" Before he'd even had the chance to finish speaking, the intricately patterned Iguanodon was pushing him out of the way with a spiked paw.
"Move." She barked, remarking no further on the matter.

Whittaker scrambled away from the site of the crack, standing back and staring up at the warrior he'd nearly been berated by. He couldn't help but stand in awe of the Iguanodon's power. She was a behemoth, muscles working overtime beneath a thick coat of feathers as she stood on her hind legs, and began to shove the crates out of the way. Heavy footsteps nearly shook the ground he stood on, inching the stacks of cargo further and further away, until the very obvious crack behind them was put on full display.

The Iguanodon snorted, her voice catching as she returned to a relaxed stance, and waved Whittaker off with her tail. "Back to it then, runt."

Rude. Very rude. But.. admittedly helpful. Whittaker turned back to the glass, eyeing a long fracture across the transparent surface. It glittered a lighter color, refracting the light from both the sea and the lights within the dome. He yanked a coconut half from off his hip, setting the bowl of glue down on the ground below, and using a small stick to begin applying it to the glass.
This glue was crafted from both the sap and charcoal of the Macademia tree. He supposed nothing could be simple in Atlantis.