What’s for Dinner?

The grassy floodplain ended in a steep wooded hill, from which Claire and Adolphus could collect firewood. Now that the river had left the wooded mountains Claire could better study the local topography.

“We’ve been descending from higher in the mountains through the foothills and into this valley,” she told Adolphus. “But we haven’t come straight downhill out of the mountains. We’ve curved around them; the river’s running right alongside the hills. There’s taller mountains downstream of us, I think.” She peered up along the chain of hills as it disappeared into the violet-white swirling sky.

“Well it’s jolly steep going, that’s for sure,” he said. When they each had a big bundle of sticks they picked and slid their way back down to the field.

“Smell that sulpher? I think we’re right, there is a volcano here, and I think we’re closer than ever.”

They came out of the woods far from where they had entered. Adolphus threw down his bundle in disgust, fishing in his waistcoat pocket for the compass he’d removed from the boiler crew’s ship.

“That will only help if you looked at it before we left,” Claire said, hoisting her bundle into a more comfortable position.

“Nonsense. I kept track of our bearings on the river. We need to go…” He faced one way and then another, consulting his compass and the horizon.

“We need to go down hill,” Claire said. “Then we look along the river.” She started off, leaving Adolphus and his firewood and catch up. After ten minutes they heard voices off to their left (“To the North,” Adolphus asserted.) and set down their burdens to investigate.

They climbed the crest of a small hillock. Below them Mirabelle and Annabelle were chasing … something. They had tied their pinafores together, and each holding a side they tiptoed across the field, stalking. Then, for no reason observable from the hilltop, they pounced, throwing themselves headlong onto the ground, pinafore outstretched.

Adolphus drew breath to shout down at them but Claire touched his elbow and shook her head. They watched the twins repeat their bizarre hunt twice more, until the pounce led to excited shouts from below. Then Adolphus and Claire ran down to see what had been caught.

As they approached they saw the field, so still from above, was alive with movement. Round, grubby white-purple things rolled and bounced through trails and tunnels in the grass. Adolphus gave chase, but as soon as he was close enough to make out what the rolling things were, they disappeared into the grass. Or into the ground, perhaps.

Mirabelle finished tying their pinafores into a bag. Something in the bag was trying to get out.

“They feel the vibration of your footsteps,” she said. “You can’t run up on them; have to walk lightly.”

“What is it?” Claire asked.

“Don’t know,” Annabelle said. “Looks like a turnip.”

“Turnips don’t roll away from footsteps!” Claire peered into the grass, trying to get a glimpse.

“And vines don’t strangle you and fish don’t have six eyes and taste like violets,” Mirabelle said. “We’re hungry, it’s dinner.”

“I don’t think we should eat it,” Claire said, “if it can roll away from us.”

“I don’t think we should eat it if it’s a turnip,” Adolphus said.

“Well, I’m going to try it. If you catch something better, we can eat that too.”

.

.

This story began with On Grandmothers and continues weekly. The previous episode was Downstream.