We expect extra psychadelic prose from you! Drug up, we're all ready to say "trippin"! -aldon
Nimbel laughed at the punxney in their pens.
'Whippel them with rocks,' Nimbel clucked, her tongue sliding snakelike along her beak.
Isgnell scratched at the dust until a good sized rock was revealed. She hesitated to pluck it and whippel it at the pink animals. They were such ugly things and they made such ugly sounds.
'Go on, whippel it hard.'
'I might hurt one of them,' Isgnell whistled.
Nimbel chuckled and ruffled her red crest, 'You can't hurt a punxey, Isg. Punxey aren't human. Punxey's don't sleese. They don't krashoon and they don't even gather in murweds. You would just pekk if you saw one trying to feed their younglings.'
Convinced, Isgnell plucked up the rock and whippeled it at a slender female punxey that was bent over scratching in the dirt. It hit the dumb animal in its flat face and knocked it down. Nimbel laughed and whippeled several more rocks at it, knocking it down each time it tried to ruvuww onto two legs. Finally, the animal remained on all fours and crawled away from the edge of the pen, hiding behind a large bull.
'What was it scratching?' Isgnell asked.
'Puxney art? They do that any time we get close to the pen. Don't tell me you are one of those humans that think they have a language.'
'No, those noises can't be language,' Isg snickered. 'Still...'
'Come on, if we don't get moving you will miss getting to see the Quartermasters slaughter a bull punxney. I want to get there while the eyes are still fresh.'
Isg took one last look at the punxey drawings. It made no sense, but she shouldn't expect animals to make sense. It looked so much like a word, but it wasn't a word, just a bunch of random scratchings.
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If she hurried, she could still catch up with the rest of the tour.
-nr