day sixty-three and a hello

Capt. Cookie and Ron headed for the airship, taking the bottles of cooking oil on Skates’ luggage cart. Ron had been roped in to act as co-pilot for this risky rescue; Cookie remembered Ron’s heroic antics when the airship was attacked by snow-mice in the Chilly Peaks, and knew he was up to the job. They soon got to the airship and Cookie poured a bottle of oil into the tank and started the engine.

“Ahh! Sounds great!” he said, revving-up. He got Ron seated in the cockpit and showed him the ropes:

“....  and this is the altimetre, the wind speed metre, the... Look!” exclaimed Cookie. “There’s the Moon! Let’s go and get Winterbottom!”

                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello!” said the dinosaur, loudly, trying to shake Winterbottom’s hand. “Just arrived? Welcome! My name is Chops. Nice to meet you!”

“Win..ter..bot..tom,” said Winterbottom hesitantly. “Nice.. to meet.. you...too...”

“How long... err... have you been here?” asked Winterbottom.

“Well, I’ve lost count really, but around seventy million years, give or take a couple of million.”

“Seventy mill... ?“ Winterbottom trailed off as he tried to comprehend it.

“Yes, it’s a long time, I know!” said Chops. “I was a stupid beast when I first arrived, but I’ve learnt how to speak. It took a long time though!”

“Bhluhh...mm..nnn....” mumbled Winterbottom, flabbergasted.

“I’m always learning new words from other people who get stranded here,” said Chops. “What do you call that thing you’re wearing around your neck?”

“A tie,” said Winterbottom. “How many people are there here?”

“At the camp? Just a few,” answered Chops. “People stay here till they get acclimatised and then they wander off and find a crater to live in. My crater is just over there. Can you get them in different colours?”

“What?”

“Ties.”

“Ties? Err... yes, all sorts of colours and patterns,” said Winterbottom. “How many people....” Winterbottom started to say.

“Do a lot of people wear them?” asked Chops.

“Yes,” said Winterbottom. “But how....”

“I see. Well, I must go. Bye!” said the dinosaur. “I hope you like porridge!”

“It’s porridge for breakfast, is it?” asked Winterbottom.

“And lunch and dinner,” said Chops.

And the dinosaur sauntered off with long, awkward chicken-leg strides, tripping over guy-ropes in the darkness as it weaved between the tents.

© David Severn 2013