About Crocodile Sun
by CB Potts
36 pages
/ 10600 words
ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-078-8
ISBN-10: 1-60370-078-1
Available file types - html. lit, pdf, prc
Dal is a photographer in Africa, looking for that perfect shot to bring him fame and fortune. He’s not expecting something as amazing as Elder, the wise leader of the river people. Heck, he doesn’t expect to end up hanging from a branch over a river full of crocodiles.
Terrified, but full of reckless curiosity, Dal finds out more than he ever thought possible about Elder. Curiosity leads a man into some strange situations, but where the storm takes Dal and Elder is the strangest place of all.
Sample
Part One
Oh, my brothers. The sun is fine today.
Fine indeed was the sun, red and fat and hot, hanging so very low in the sky. As hot as hot can be, radiating heat across the long vast expanse of space to warm the red African mud and bake it into crimson powdery dust. The dust was so light that it would take wing with a breath, spreading itself across the sky in a cloud, pretender to a hazy glory. It was hot enough to burn green grasses as they stood, tingeing them first golden and ripe, then toasting them to the khaki of despair, and at long last to the final, inarguably dead brown. They were so dry, so frail, that even the lightest breath of wind set them moving, rustling like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. It was hot. Deathly hot.
It was glorious.
The sun is our friend, my brothers.
As always, the counterpoint came in chorus. That was the way of the River People. Clutch mates shared one mind. They spoke with one voice. It had always been this way. It would always be that way.
Yes, Elder. Yes.
Elder smiled, as his kind was wont to do, by dropping his jaw and letting the cool river water flow over his tongue. It was thin now, shot through only with the essence of bony fish and confrontational hippo mothers. Soon it would be better, richer, meatier. This pleased him. It pleased him greatly.
Do you know what is coming, my brothers?
The sun was changing the land. Across the continent’s great expanse, watering holes were disappearing, evaporation the ultimate, inevitable surrender to the blazing heat. Lush, green-heavy vines withered to blackened stalk and husk and the sharp-edged memory of foliage. The Earth drew in upon itself, tightening its skin until deep black cracks appeared.
No, Elder. Tell us. Tell us what you know.
Elder knew. Elder knew, because Elder always knew. That was the way of being Elder. When he’d had clutch mates, the burden of knowing had not been his alone. All knowledge had been shared then, between him and his great grey-green sister.
But she had passed, departing long ago to the darkest part of the river. That is what River People did, when the fish grew too swift and teeth too frail. Too many eggs had she lain, too many young had she brought into being on the sloped riverbank. It had been forever since she’d swum away from Elder. Yet it seemed, if he gave it mind, that it was but a moment since he’d caught the last glimpse of her tail, disappearing into the murky black.
Elder waited for her return always, waited while the bitter taste of truth kept him company. He could feel it on his tongue, that truth, burning and sour. Elder was alone. Alone, he was Elder. It was his job to know.
His alone.
It would not always be so. Someday he would follow the way of the River People, and search out his sister in the darkest waters. That day was not today, but that day would come.
He had to make his brothers ready. It was the way of the Elder.
Listen. Leave the water for a moment and listen to the wind. It will tell you what is coming, oh my brothers. If you listen well.
Small ears opened, straining for knowledge. But his brothers were not Elder, not yet, and they had not the patience of many years.