Marooned : Lonely Knight
27 Jul 2024Creamy Goodness III
Up here on top of the old rookery, the milky sea of the sand storm below churned and boiled like an evil witch's brew. Silent white lighting cracked over the gritty clouds in the distance, lighting up other pilers of rock floating like buoys on the tempestuous ocean, but it was a scene that had played every day for Creamy. Right now, his interest was only for the long bone rack and its stringy treasure.
Wiping his forehead with his finger, Creamy gently dragged the salty droplets down the sinews. He took off his old bottle bottom sand glasses to get a better look at the sweat soaked sinews that had been curing under the sun. Months of work, and failure had led to this moment, and any hasty action, or mistake could ruin everything again. If he could just make one more long, strong string, He could ease the burden of his survival one tiny bit more. His hood protected his head from the unrelenting drum of the blue stars heat as he carefully worked, it also kept his long dry hair out of his face.
What the hood didn’t let him see, and the wind, coupled with the ever-present noise of rushing sand didn't let him hear, was a long black clawed hand crest the top of the fairy chimney Creamy had claimed as his own. Another clawed hand gripped the edge of the glass smooth rock, and soon a flat pale yellow scaled head slowly raised, peering between the taloned hands at Creamy’s back.
Two misty eyes rolled in their sockets until they focused on the man hunched over, many feet away. Out of the sandy turmoil below, even a pack of strong young lizards would have trouble taking down the two legged visitor to their home land, and this old hunter knew that all too well. The two legs had enough meat to keep the hunter alive, so old and toothless though he was, the temptation was too strong.
Staying low, it pulled its self over the edge sounding just like the wind driven sand, not that his target would hear from this distance. The visitor was facing into the wind, deleting the gliding attack the hunter and his kind liked to use, so prowling and pouncing it was to be. The hunters age gave him experience to make up for his weak body and blunted claws. He knew hesitation killed opportunity, so he didn’t waist another moment.
Slinking to his target, wings folded and body low, the hunter snaked his way to his pray. It was in reach, old waisted muscles tensed and released all the power they could muster, driven by a primitive desire for moist, warm meat. It had been a long time since the old hunter had cause to leap, and the feeling of sailing through the air tempted him to open his wings and feel the wind lift him, but the visitor was too quick.
A hand gripped the hunter by the base of his tail, and he was pulled to the ground with the visitor on top of him, pinning him to the smooth rock. His claws scrabbled uselessly, and his thrashing did nothing to shift the human off his back.
“So, you made it up here you sly old bugger, ay? Well done” said Creamy kneeing to take his weight off the dog-like lizard, then he scratched it’s head playfully.
The lizard hissed and snapped at Creamy’s hand, but didn’t mean it. He was after the meat on the drying rack, but as usual, Creamy was always too fast for him.
“Now now, stop your complaining that man. You can have one bit now Custard, but we still have work to do before dinner. Alright old boy?”
Hissing and pacing was all Custard could do to show his disapproval of not being free to eat all the meat. The old lizard knew he’d just be picked up, and carried back to the den if he made another run for the drying rack.
Being a soft touch, Creamy gave Custard two nice thick chunks of part dried meat, still moist in the middle, just the way the old git liked them. Giving Custard two good sized chunks to deal with gave Creamy plenty of time to finish checking his work. By tonight, it should be ready. Creamy put his sand goggles back in place over his eyes, and crouched patting his shoulder as he called to the dull yellow lizard he'd named Custard.
“Custard! Custard! Up you get lad, I’ll take you down. Don’t worry your self”
With Custard riding piggy back, Creamy climbed into the caldron below, stopping at the cave to pick up the few capped bottles he had left for collecting water. Following Custard, Creamy had learned that the packs of dog-lizards dug up water when they found it in a group making the work easy, but Creamy and Custard were a pack of two, so it was much harder.
When the packs found a patch of water, they circled it and all dug together, kicking the sand out behind them, lapping at the retreating puddle before the storm buried it again. Creamy had Custard had to move around the puddle in a circle as the dug, drinking and doing his best to get some liquid in a bottle while Custard snapped at his hands and slurped up the water before much made it into the receptacle.
It was hard work, but far more bountiful than the other methods Creamy had of getting life sustaining water. Now and then, Custard would warn Creamy of other lizard-dogs approaching, but he was a lethal shot with a sling now, so the packs tended to give him and Custard a wide birth, if they didn’t fancy being on the drying racks.
After a hard day digging for water, and hunting food, Creamy had to climb back to the rookery with Custard clinging to his back. When his hand reached the mouth of the cave, Custard, with out fail, would scrabble off his back using Creamy's arms, hands, head and face as stepping stones, threating to knock Creamy off the rock in his rush to get to his spot in the den. It never changed here, every day was like the last. He had to survive, and he knew how to do just that mostly thanks to learning for Custard, but that was all he did, survive. If it wasn’t for that grumpy old lizard Creamy had managed to befriend, he may have given up months ago.
Now he was close to completing something that would make life better for both him, and his reptilian friend. After Custard settled in a warm nook out of the cooling breeze, Creamy climbed to the flat top of the rock to set the dew collectors, and gather the strings he had been making. The sinew had dried out nicely, but then, so had many others. None of them this thin had been strong enough under tension so far. He silently prayed this batch would be different.
Sitting in the L-shaped den carved by generations of lizards, Creamy relaxed enjoying the cool evening breeze. Custard was curled up in his nook, resting his yellow head on his hand-like paws watching Creamy work. Creamy had found this was the best time of the day to do delicate work. It wasn’t cold yet, but cool enough to reward him for the many hours of skin burning heat he'd delt with each day. Setting about it, two string broke as soon as Creamy applied tension to them, so he had two left before he'd have to start from scratch again.
The wind died down at night dropping the dust even lower, and from the rookery Creamy could see the stars come out as the sun set. The dew collectors were all out, the racks were securely anchored, and food and water for a few day ahead were stored where greedy old lizards couldn’t get at it. Don't give despair a foot hold, that was the key. If the last two strings snapped, at least he'd have something to do for a week or so.
Again, he tied the string at one end, and gently guided the other end up a long bone to a peg, and wrapped the string around it a few times. Hardly breathing he pushed the peg half way into tis hole and twisted. the string held, but it wasn't tight enough for the job, so Creamy twisted again and tested the tension. Still not enough. Slowly in strong fingers, Creamy twisted the peg and tested the tentation with his thumb until the string hummed after being plucked.
"Almost there old boy" Creamy said to him self, getting a hissy huff from Custard who didn't like noise when he was trying to settle in for the evening.
So slowly, Creamy couldn't really tell if he was turning it at all, he twisted the peg and tested the tension until the string hummed long after he'd plucked it. It was finished. He'd done it. After months and months learning how to make string string from lizard tendons, dried out guts, or his own hair, Creamy had at last finished. Now it was time to test it out. He pushed the peg home hard, knowing he had the perfect target just across the den from him. Picking out an arrow head shaped bit of cartilage he'd made, Creamy held it on the string and smiled at the unsuspecting Custard. Plucking the string and its five progressively wider counterparts, Creamy strummed his first cord in many many months.
It sounded terrible to anyone that ever heard a guitar being strummed, but to a musical man that hadn't heard music for over a year, it was the cords of heaven. Custard's head jerked up, and he glared at Creamy and the odd thing he held in his stupid clawless hands.
"This is called a guitar Custard. With it, I shall take us away from this silicone prison. Well, our minds anyway" he said while playing a few cords.
Custard strained to stand up. His hips were going in his old age, and it got harder to do anything as his blood cooled, but the noise Creamy was making was worth the pain. It needed investigating.
Creamy never knew what he was going to play until a song started to come from his mouth, or his fingers decided what tune they wanted to navigate. Still playing with the strings to get used to the instrument, Creamy lounged on his folded cloak, with his head resting on his balled up shirt as he scanned the sky for ship trails. The blue star was a hazy shine behind the sand storm now, and wispy tails of ultra light white dust danced in spirals up to the stars before the heavy gravity pulled them back in to the storm below. A song came.
"A jouuurney, started, long-ago"
Custard climbed down as Creamy played. He'd had to put up the the cooing the visitor made plenty of times, but it usually helped Custard sleep, so he didn't really mind. This time there was a plinky pluny noise with the singing that made Custards old muscles want to move. The vibrations in the den were getting into Custards skull, but they felt good, and he could tell they were coming from the thing Creamy was holding.
Custard was pressing his nose onto the body of the guitar, but Creamy didn't stop playing or singing. His friend was experiencing music for the first time, and Creamy wasn't about to tell him how to do that.
Suddenly, the gentle soothing noises Creamy was making got louder, and faster causing Custard to coil back and hiss, but it was only surprise. Creamy's song still made the old lizard sway with the music.
"Look uuuup tooo the sky, see the clouds, How-They-Fly
Heeeading into-The-Unknown, Don`t-Ever-Stop
Juuust keep moooving on"
Now Custard was almost running in circles before he pressed him self against the guitar or let his long tongue lap against Creamy's fingers and the strings.
"Liiisten tooo The-Voice, iiin our-hearts
Let it taaake us tooo another place
Stepping-Beyond, The-Wind-And-The-Storm, toooo a briiighter day"
Custard was getting too excited, and is was hard to sing when laughing at a geriatric lizard acting like a puppy. Putting the delicate guitar in its own little hidey hole, Creamy did his best to calm Custard down.
"Ok ok, old boy" said Creamy pulling the lizard up on to his lap and stroking his scaly chin. "Bit to much for you humm? There there, calm down now. We'll play something else tomorrow, alright?"
Laying down, Creamy pulled his lizard skin cloak over himself and Custard, and settled in for the night. Now there was music, survival felt a little more civilised, and sleep came easy for a change.