The Fate of Corndogs

“You want to abandon them?” Gerhardt demanded.

“We don’t know how to feed them! What use are we to them, now that they’re away from the fissure?” Annabelle replied.

A breakfast of boiled water and one ounce of Emmentaler each had ended in an argument, as such a poor repast likely will. Claire and Adolphus, whom the twins rightly suspected of staying awake and making decisions while the others slept, believed the children should leave the corndogs in the meadow and take their boat downstream. Gerhardt and Bettina were appalled by the idea. Mirabelle and Annabelle, who generally disagreed with Adolphus on principle, saw merit in pressing on to a more fruitful plain, although they were uneasy at leaving their strange charges to fend for themselves.

The corndog creatures had spread about the field at night, staying well away from the forest edge. The children still could not tell if they were eating or not, although the creatures did shuffle to the river on their little husks for a drink now and again. They seemed contented, as far as anyone could tell. At the end of a testy hour Gerhardt was muttering and Bettina was tearfully picking up and hugging each silk-eared creature. As the children floated away downstream they were only somewhat comforted by the complete lack of interest the little dog-creatures showed in their departure.

Gerhardt grumbled. “Someone’s going to find them and take them right back to the volcano.”

“Stop it,” Annabelle snapped. “We voted.”

“Doesn’t make it right. If Father were here-”

“Father’s not here.” Mirabelle sounded more weary than angry. “There’s no one here but us.”

They floated down the lazy river, poling to either bank whenever they saw something that might be food. They disturbed a flock of lemon-yellow hook-billed birds, which looked perfectly normal (if a bit garish) whilst feeding on the bank, but in flight revealed underbellies of lashing orange tentacles. The sight was so alarming that Gerhardt, who had armed his crossbow with river pebble, missed his shot completely.

They investigated the bank where the flock had been feeding and found a quantity of large green slugs. It is a testimony to their hunger that they actually discussed how they might prepare them, before sailing away still hungry. Without garlic butter, they concluded, it was impossible to eat a slug.

At least the violet clouds above kept the sun from beating down on them, but it was still hot, and very humid. The children grew more uncomfortable by the hour, hungry and dispirited. Adolphus demanded the twins dole out more cheese, and they refused.

“I can’t survive on an ounce of cheese a day!”

“Eat it all now and see how you do on zero ounces a day,” said Annabelle, her sister glowering behind her.

The dispute grew into a blazing argument. Claire alternated between supporting the twins’ long view and trying to make peace. Bettina turned away, lacking the vocabulary to weigh in on either side, and unable to make herself heard in all the shouting, anyway.

She turned her back on them and watched the bank slip by. The woods they had been passing through for ages gave way to green fields. Bettina realized with a thrill that the green stuff was in rows. She tried to break into the fracas to share this important news, but as her siblings had descended to base name-calling, she gave up and watched the land for further developments. She was rewarded.