Mercantile Miscreance

Barrett · 06-15-2011, 09:17 PM

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Any sleight of hand was well missed by the boy, who was presently preoccupied with the selection of his new pets. For a good minute, he squinted thoughtfully at the tiny creatures as if there was some way to discern which were “best.” The perpetual glow and frequent pulsations of the juveniles seemed quite novel, but the sporadic, protracted flashes of the adults were exciting, too, as they could not be readily anticipated. Ultimately, he decided that an assortment was ideal and chose two of each. While he could not simply take another set, being allowed only five, the last snail was easiest to pick: it was one with a more distinct shell pattern than the rest, perhaps a mutation, and one that seemed relatively responsive (as snails went)—the one that had jiggled its eye stalk at him earlier.

He scooped them out gently with a claw and let them rest on one palm while collecting the satchel of seeds with his other hand. “Thanks again!” he chirped merrily, pleased not only with the loot but the merchant's satisfaction, too. Barrett couldn't help but be somewhat proud as the coyote took his seat and steered Nettle just outside the driveway, the wagon rolling along behind as if in factory condition. Already he began planning his next move: there were a number of unused mason jars around the garage. Perhaps he would keep one of the snails on hand for observation—the bi-coloured one with the spiral—while releasing the rest in the greenhouse where they'd keep nice and warm (and, thanks to his rain barrel irrigation system, sufficiently moist).

Before he could get too carried away, Sedge brought him back to the present with a final query. Barrett blinked; would any of the pack wolves here be keen on a trade? “Can't really say for the folks around here, but I'd bet almost anything my mum and her family would be interested in something. They're further inland... western New Brunswick, just a bit over the border from Maine, you can follow Route 2 all the way in once you're off the peninsula,” he explained. “Happy trails either way!” he bade as a final farewell, waving briefly with the seed pouch dangling between his fingers.

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