Ooz was aware but unconcerned with the far off dragons. They had other things to focus on and even if they should turn their attention on him, he doubted they would desire him as the center of meal time. Such was the advantage of not being a carbon based life form.

He breathed deeply the fumes of the air. The distant volcano spewed out ash and fume, life taking to most creatures of the region, life giving to creatures such as Ooz and the dragons.

Wading, thru the thick soup that would one day give rise to a host of carbon critters, Ooz came to shore and found a rock to sit on.

He strapped the human shaped shoes to his flippers and ‘walked’ along the banks of the soon to be harden river bed.

That should resurface in about….a bunch of years. Giving rise to misinterpretation and inaccurate interpretation.

Ooz radioed the mother ship.

“One to pick up. Yes, tracks planted. Markers in place.”

They would return, in…a bunch of years! Night lights, fake foot prints, 21 episodes of “mysteries of the mud flats”.


The dragons played in the thick air. Fumes and gasses from a nearby volcano stung their eyes and forced their lungs to draw with labor. They swooped and guided together, apart, together. Pushing, bumping and grasping each other.

It was a delight and they were as if in heaven.

“How is this wife,” called Taran, “how are you liking it?”

“This place, this time,” Eraina was so overwhelmed she could hardly speak, “you sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

There is no name for where they were. The edge of time, the begining of all things, before there was anything, and after there is nothing. ..

Eraina’s mother had once called it God’s bathtub.

The air thick, burning yet nourishing. Burning yet cleansing.

“What is that?” asked Taran as his mighty wings strained to gain height.

Far away he spotted a roundish object floating through the goo.

“A beach ball prehaps?”

The young dragons, fresh on their joining trip, swooped down toward the round thing. Wings stiff, straining on the smoke.

In the lead Taran drove close to the ball only to jump away.

“Careful,” he called, “that thing has claws.”

Indeed, the ball had snapped at him.

Eraina gluided well away from the object.

“Back off dragons!” yelled the object, “I’ll have no truck with you. I care only for my mission.”

“And what would be your ‘mission’ little beachball?” asked Taran.

Eraina hissed at her husband. Dragons, as with humans, find their new mates incredibly humorous. And like humans, it is a feeling that wears down quickly.

“Why, to reproduce! Of course,” said the beachball, “just as with any creature. I am trying to get to land in hopes the quarry of my mission maybe found.”

“Dude is on a ‘booty call’.” Taran smirked.

Taran was having way too much fun with this. Eraina interupted.

“Are there others of your kind on land? None at sea?” she asked.

“I do not know, I have never met another of my kind.”

“Then how will you know when you find one? In point of fact, what if you have already met others but were unable to reconize it?”

“You young dragon are sharp tongued. Not an attribute to be desired.”

Eraina spoke up, “an unfortunate habit he picked up from humans.”

“it’s called sarcasm. And it is an art form.” Taran was indeed enjoying himself.

He dropped onto the beachball and grasping it where it’s arm met it’s body Taran pulled it into the air.

“let me go young dragon. I will be a meal that kills you.”

“I ain’t gonna eat you, beachball, I am just going to give you a ride to the beach.”

The dragons left their plaything on the beach and began their flight home.

“Do you think it will find another of its own kind?” asked Eraina.

“I hope so, he seems like a such a nice guy, for a beachball.”

“Or ‘she’.”

“Indeed, you are right. I just hope upon find another the air is very thicker still.”

“Why is that my love?”

“Smoke screen! That critter is so ugly, it will need all the help it can get.”