Not-So-Fun in the Sun
His green eyes squinted as he pushed past the foliage, surprised at the blast from the sun that had greeted his intrusion. The little Styracosaurus had gotten so used to the safe coverage of foliage that he had not realized just how hot the open sun felt. The wide leaves brushed against his back as he stepped into the sand, jerking his furthest foot back upon feeling the gritty texture underneath his feet. Turbo bent his legs, leaning for a closer look at the tiny particles of debris. If he looked close enough… he swore he could see all kinds of tiny rock fragments within the soft ground.
As the hatchling stepped fully into the sand, he was hardly a few steps in when he realized the ground was actually quite warm. A startled yelp erupted from his beaked mouth and he pulled back once more, backing into the shaded foliage that shielded his scales with wide leaves. Despite this setback, Turbo felt far too curious to turn back now. He had just experienced an entirely new texture beneath his feet, and the unique smell of dense salt in the air drew his inquisitive mind to explore further. A tiny snort flared his nostrils as he tested the ground once more. He pressed his stumpy foot down, watching it sink into the ground as the grains filled in the gaps around it. Even more curiously, when he lifted his foot, the tiny grains spilled into the hole he left, flowing like a liquid.
A flash of movement had his horned head snapping toward his left up ahead. Turbo simply could not help himself in stumbling forward, his front limbs clumsily sinking into the sand below as he took wide steps further into the open. With each step, he had to shift his weight to avoid toppling over, and the grains tickled his feet with each movement. He paid no mind, though, as he lumbered towards the fast-moving creature. His nostrils flared, greedily reaching for any unique smells, but the sour smell of salt overpowered any other scents around the little herbivore. Further and further into the beach, Turbo stumbled and waded, but further and further away the fast creature fled. However, he found it becoming easier and easier to walk, now, and before he knew it, he was running. There was no speed that Turbo could run, though, to catch up with the little creature, and he gasped with surprise when the creature disappeared into the murky water.
Crash!
He cried out, horrified as he lost his balance, falling onto his left side and the overwhelming taste of salt filled his mouth and stung his eyes. Turbo sputtered and coughed as he rolled over. He tried to open his eyes, but the sting of the water that had threatened to drown him forced them closed. His legs kicked at the air as he worked to reorient himself.
Crash!
Water once more forced itself onto him, though less harshly this time. Turbo gasped as his nails scraped at the wet ground underneath him, and he used his forelimbs to drag himself forward. The water was attacking him! What if it pulled him in and dragged him under? Finally, he was able to stand, and he could hear the water hissing at him. Turbo did not even consider taking the time to look behind him as he sprinted forward, leaving a wake of deep footprints behind him. Only when he felt the ground soften beneath him and he began to stumble, he paused to look back. The water lapped at the ground up ahead, consuming the closest footprints as it pulled back. Horror caused his stomach to twist. Would he have ended up like his footprints if he hadn’t escaped?
Turbo swung his head from side to side, spraying whatever remaining drops of sour water that he could manage to fling off of his scales. Looking back once more, the little Styracosaurus realized the water only moved a certain distance before pulling back. He would not be eaten by it if he stayed far enough. Scanning where the water and the sand met, he noticed something. There was a point that the ground was darker and wet where the water would reach. He blinked as he processed the sight. Then, cautiously, Turbo lifted a foot, lowering his head to investigate. The looser sand once more filled the hole his foot had left. This part of the ground remained dry while the ground closer to the water was visibly wet. He would just avoid the wet spot! Turbo could not help but smile to himself at his cleverness. He had survived the water, and he had learned how to avoid it!
He walked on, continuing his exploration. Excitement tingled within his chest as he realized he could spot clusters of green up ahead. Food! Turbo wondered what this place had to offer for food. Would it be sour, like the water? Gritty like the ground itself? With effort, he lumbered ahead, still not quite used to the odd texture of the ground beneath him. As he neared, Turbo could spot flecks of purple within the green. It definitely looked like food. Immediately once the plant was within reach, he leaned forward. Salt still overwhelmed his sense of smell, but he could detect a small fragrance from the purple flowers that sat within the plant. It had broad leaves, and while the plant itself was quite short, it spread far, infesting the sand around him. Young Turbo had not forgotten his lesson with the blackberries. He took careful time to smell at the broad leaves and the pretty flowers within the plant, and he leaned close to inspect the stems for anything pointy.
Seemed safe.
Cautiously, Turbo clasped his beak over a cluster of leaves, tugging softly until they separated from the ground. It wasn’t difficult to pluck the plant away, and it offered a satisfying crunch when he bit down onto the leaves. As he swallowed, the hatchling found it wasn’t all pleasant. He coughed as a rough feeling tickled his throat, and he could feel the grains of sand stuck to his tongue. They crunched awkwardly between his flat teeth, and he couldn’t help but rumble a disgusted groan. He wasn’t too sure if he liked it here, honestly. The water was sour and violent, and the foliage was seasoned with yucky particles of sand. Frowning, he lifted his head to look around. The area looked so unique and the hissing of the water was… oddly comforting now that he was safer and further away from the water. However, he did not seem to be able to find any good water nor good food. Perhaps he should just leave.
Thunk!
His horned head whipped behind him as he jumped, feeling his heart leap into his throat. His forelimbs lifted to propel him forward, but they caught on each other and instead of moving, Turbo simply felt himself slam forward, his eyes squeezing shut reflexively as his face met sand. He bleated fearfully, his limbs thrashing and his head swinging defensively. He felt nothing make contact with him, however. Once he was able to process he was safe within moments, he slowed his movements in order to properly prop himself up. He squinted through the sand on his face as he turned around to inspect what had scared him. A fuzzy round object sat nearby in a crater of sand. It was fuzzy and smelled nutty. Slowly, he approached it closer. It was quite big for a nut. He used the tip of his horn on the bridge of his snout to nudge the nut, pushing it gently as it rolled through the sand, creating a crevice in its wake. He simply could not help himself. He wrapped his beak around the nut, pressing down on it until his teeth grew sore. It was shockingly difficult to break open.
Turbo looked around, his mind flipping through all of the potential ways he could try and break the nut open. After a moment, he lifted the front of his body up, bracing his forelimbs onto the round nut. With all of his might, he pushed, his face scrunching up with effort as he tried and tried to push through the shell. He stomped and stamped his forelimbs, grunting with frustration the more he failed. Finally, once he had enough, the young Styracosaurus reared up before slamming his head onto the surface of the nut. Instantly, he regretted it. Turbo cried out as pain drummed through his head, and he fell back, dazed. He stared at the nut for several moments in disbelief. Was he mistaken? Did it just smell like food, only to not be food? Was it deceitful in its smell?
He pushed the nut through the soft ground with a stubborn snort using the horn on his snout. He tapped it, nudged it, rolled it, but to no avail. Perhaps it was time to give up and concede the idea of this being food. With a final hit on the nut with his horn to express just how cross he was with it, he trudged through the sand, retreating back into the woodlands. This area was not a nice place, and he supposed he wouldn’t return to it anytime soon.
