There will be bumps. There will be interruptions. There will be bathroom breaks. There will be noobs to kill in Mafia Wars. There will be--OOH! Shiny! Er, ahem. There will be things to take your mind off of the task at hand--the task being taking the concept of the Garums and bringing them to life.
"It's alive!"
Without any further preamble, I give you, the Garum.
Khaki-Indigo-Myrtle sighed, looking around the base-camp. She hoped this was all worth it. She’d been through all the old tales from the medicine women and dream weavers of old—everything she could find about Up. No one in recent memory had breached Up. Yet here they were in the shallows, mere strokes away from breaching it.
It was told in tales from yore that it had been done—done and ne’er again. Tales of a gas hurled at the faces of the original breachers with such a force as to rip the skin from their faces.
Her reverie was broken as two males grabbed each other by the front feet. They began swirling about in the water, gnashing their teeth in each other’s face.
“I eat you!” they cried at one another as the test of dominance from eons ago continued in this modern mock dance of wills.
“Why don’t you two chowderheads go forage us up some food,” said Jonquil-Ochre-Alizarin-Navy, emitting a scent of disgust. The two males broke apart, blinking as they caught the scent. Their scent of chagrin floated before them.
“We are but ‘Wogs,” they mumbled in apology as they swam past her. Within a few strokes, though, they were back at it, smacking each other in the side as they continued swimming towards the kelp bed where the best hunting lay.
“I fear those two are ready to mate,” said Jonquil-Ochre-Alizarin-Navy as she swam over to Khaki-Indigo-Myrtle.
“Aye, I smell you are right,” she agreed. She tilted her body to look once more at Up. “Are we right in trying this?” she asked. “Or are we tempting the gods as the Elders say?”
“Surely you don’t believe in that old Wog’s scent,” said Jonquil-Ochre-Alizarin-Navy. “There is no such thing as the gods. You can’t tell the future though the intestines of fish, either. The future is what it is, and we cannot foresee it until it happens.” She put one hand on the shoulder of Khaki-Indigo-Myrtle. “Don’t doubt yourself. You have researched this through and through. There are no more tales to smell, no more dreams to seek. You have dreamed and smelled them all. They all lead to you going Up.”
“But what if they are wrong? What if it is all a dream, and poking my nose out Up can kill me? What then?”
“Then you are dead and the crabs have a feast on your carcass—and I shall put your Magnetic Note Tablet to better use in your absence.” She pushed Khaki-Indigo-Myrtle playfully away, scenting humor.
“Oh, funny. Very funny,” said Khaki-Indigo-Myrtle, scenting humor/sarcasm. She retilted to look Up. “I wonder what causes that flickering of the light in Up,” she pondered. “The records of the tales are so . . . unscented . . . you know?”
Jonquil-Ochre-Alizarin-Navy scented agreement. “I know. And then there is that one that says were are to avoid Up, ‘For the day you forsake this is the day you shall surely die,’” she quoted. “We shall find out soon enough if it is right, or if it is a stench.”
“That we shall,” said Khaki-Indigo-Myrtle. “After one sleep we shall see.” They swam back to the middle of the base camp to assist the others in setting up the electronics and supplies, while waiting for the two aggressive males to return with their hunting results.
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