Chapter 6 — Tortoise
And thus begins Chapter Six.
Now, children.
We followed the crocodiles.
Or alligators.
The Archive has accepted zoological uncertainty as part of the record.
The council nods.
Our system remained:
Large reptile.
Then another large reptile.
Therefore
snakes must be approaching.
Scientifically questionable.
Emotionally flawless.
And for a while,
it worked.
Or at least,
the reptilian breadcrumbs continued.
Then
they thinned.
One enclosure.
Another.
Less crocodilian.
Less obvious.
Until eventually
nothing.
The trail vanished.
The council stops.
Snakes?
Still absent.
Crocodiles?
Gone.
Navigation infrastructure?
Collapsed.
Children.
Our grand biological GPS had failed.
Bro looked around.
I looked around.
The snake quest remained active,
but we had once again entered that deeply sophisticated state known as:
No fucking clue.
Then
something.
The council turns.
Ahead.
Enclosure.
Creature.
Large.
Round.
Armoured.
Slow.
Ancient looking.
Children.
The beast of legends.
The giant tortoise.
The council rises.
A TORTOISE.
Not snake.
Technically
problem.
But did Bro and I care?
Were we disappointed?
Did either of us look upon this magnificent biological fortress and say:
Ugh.
Not serpent.
Children.
Please.
One look.
And almost in unison
“Wawwwww.”
The council erupts.
There it was again.
The sacred response.
Not wow.
Wawwwww.
Long.
Reverent.
Completely devoid of academic value.
And children,
look at a giant tortoise.
Really look.
It does not resemble an animal designed for the current era.
It resembles something that survived several world updates
because nobody remembered to remove it.
The council nods.
Armour.
Thick legs.
Ancient face.
A shell large enough to suggest the creature carries a private apartment.
Slow movement with the confidence of something that has never once cared about your schedule.
Children.
Magnificent.
Snake quest
temporarily suspended.
Not abandoned.
Important.
We still wanted snakes.
But the zoo had placed an armoured prehistoric looking tank in front of us.
We had obligations.
The council opens a new temporary file.
GIANT TORTOISE.
Immediately
cinematic universe.
Of course.
Bro stared.
I stared.
And within perhaps several seconds,
the creature acquired a history.
Last of his kind.
The council pauses.
There were probably other tortoises in the enclosure.
Irrelevant.
Narratively?
Last of his kind.
An ancient survivor.
A veteran.
The final remnant of
the Jurassic era.
The council raises a hand.
Tortoises existed in the Jurassic era?
No idea.
Was this particular species around then?
Also no idea.
Why Jurassic specifically?
Children.
Because there are several movies called Jurassic Park.
The council stares.
And?
There are no movies called Cretaceous Park.
Silence.
That is not how geological accuracy works.
Perhaps.
But marketing has spoken.
The public consciousness recognizes Jurassic.
Therefore
Jurassic.
The council reluctantly allows the cinematic universe to continue.
And so,
this tortoise?
Ancient survivor of Jurassic catastrophe.
Everything else perished.
Dinosaurs fell.
Continents shifted.
Civilizations rose.
Empires collapsed.
Humans invented WiFi.
And still
him.
The council looks at the tortoise slowly chewing something.
Heroic.
Exactly.
Perhaps he had watched meteor fire split the sky.
Perhaps he had stood against velociraptors.
Perhaps his shell bore scars from battles too ancient for fossil records.
Perhaps he had once commanded an army.
The council sighs.
He is eating lettuce.
War rations.
Obviously.
Bro contributed.
I contributed.
The lore expanded.
Children.
This is the danger of two stoned people encountering an animal that already looks fictional.
You barely need imagination.
The tortoise does half the work himself.
He takes one step.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
The council waits.
Still stepping.
Yes.
Children.
Time works differently around giant tortoises.
One foot rises.
Civilizations emerge.
Foot lowers.
Civilizations collapse.
The creature continues.
Unbothered.
Bro watched him.
I watched him.
Then came the questions.
The important scientific questions.
“What happens inside the shell?”
The council pauses.
Organs.
Presumably.
Yes,
thank you,
Science Department.
But children
how?
Where?
What does the inside look like?
Is there empty space?
Does the shell feel like a room?
Can he feel someone touching it?
Is the shell just giant external bone?
Could he somehow
No.
The council immediately intervenes.
We do not need to physically investigate.
We weren’t going to.
We were philosophers,
not burglars.
The questions continued.
Can the tortoise leave the shell?
Probably not.
What if he wants to?
Does he ever get tired of carrying a house?
Is it heavy?
Does it feel heavy if it is part of you?
If humans had shells,
would we decorate them?
The council pauses.
Yes.
Absolutely.
Correct.
Stickers.
Paint.
Possibly neon signs.
Bro and I agreed humanity would ruin shells aesthetically within one generation.
The council accepts this.
Then
age.
How old was he?
Unknown.
Children.
But look at that face.
At least four thousand.
The council sighs.
Could have attended the construction of pyramids.
Could have personally advised kings.
Could have forgotten more history than we had ever learned.
This,
obviously,
became canon.
The giant tortoise was no longer zoo animal.
He was
Ancient One.
Survivor.
Keeper of time.
Biological armoured tank.
The council nods solemnly.
A creature whose entire evolutionary strategy appears to have been:
What if rock,
but alive?
Excellent.
And for a while,
that was enough.
The snake quest faded into background processing.
Not deleted.
Just minimized.
Like a tab still open somewhere in the brain.
Children.
This happened repeatedly.
We would establish mission.
Then animal.
Then
mission forgotten.
Philosophy begins.
Eventually philosophy meter fills.
Mission remembered.
Continue.
The zoo had become a chain of distractions
connected by a very weak intention to locate snakes.
The council smiles.
Which,
in retrospect,
is an excellent way to experience a zoo.
Not efficient.
But excellent.
Bro and I stayed there for another amount of time the Archive cannot measure.
Five minutes?
Twenty?
A geological era?
Near a tortoise,
all are plausible.
We watched him move.
Or not move.
Children.
Even stillness became interesting.
A fish had to swim to attract attention.
The crocodiles at least possessed murder face.
This creature?
Could simply stand there.
Exist.
And our brains supplied grandeur.
“Wawwwww.”
The council nods.
Eventually,
one of us remembered.
Snakes.
Ah.
Yes.
The quest.
The council reopens the tracker.
PRIMARY CURRENT OBJECTIVE:
Find snakes.
STATUS:
Distracted by ancient tank.
We looked away from the tortoise.
Painful.
But necessary.
Perhaps another enclosure lay nearby.
Perhaps the reptile trail had not actually died.
Maybe the giant tortoise was merely
a checkpoint.
A guardian.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Guardian of the snake realm?
Exactly.
Children.
We had passed the crocodiles.
Now the ancient armoured sentinel.
Surely serpents lay beyond.
The council sighs.
Your route planning is now based on fantasy progression.
It had been vibes twenty minutes ago.
This is improvement.
So
next exhibit.
We walked.
Bro beside me.
Still no government names.
Still no idea whether she had been visiting the zoo for thirty minutes or four hours before meeting me.
Still no knowledge of occupation,
home,
education,
or anything normal friendship requires.
But children,
we had jointly established the tragic biography of a tortoise.
At this point,
formal introductions would have felt invasive.
The council laughs.
And as we moved on,
I looked back once more.
Maybe.
The Archive cannot swear to the gesture.
But I remember the creature.
Heavy shell.
Ancient face.
That impression of time condensed into biology.
Not because I learned anything factual from the exhibit.
Children.
I learned almost nothing.
That would require reading the information board.
And we know how well signage was performing in this Wandering.
No.
What I got was wonder.
Pure,
stupid,
unqualified wonder.
Look at that thing.
Wawwwww.
Sometimes that is enough.
The council nods.
I entered the zoo without ever having visited one before.
Which meant I had no fatigue yet.
No:
I’ve seen tortoises.
No:
This species is common in captivity.
No:
The enclosure at another zoo is better.
Nothing.
Every animal had the privilege of being first.
And perhaps that is why a giant tortoise could stop an active snake quest dead in its tracks.
Because I had never stood beside one before.
Novelty won.
The council smiles.
Story Nuo did not think:
I am preserving beginner’s wonder.
Story Nuo thought:
Holy shit.
Big turtle.
The council approves.
Technically tortoise.
Holy shit.
Big tortoise.
Better.
And Bro?
Same wavelength.
No need to explain why this creature deserved ten minutes of lore.
She understood.
Of course she did.
We had already created relationship drama for fish
and political hierarchy for crocodiles.
An ancient tortoise was practically begging for mythology.
So we gave it some.
Then,
when satisfied,
we moved.
Toward the next enclosure.
Hoping
still reptile.
Because somewhere,
children,
somewhere in this zoo,
there had to be a snake.
The council raises the quest marker again.
SNAKES.
Still active.
Still unfound.
Still pursued with absolutely no use of maps,
signs,
staff,
or sober reasoning.
Perfect.
Thus concludes Chapter Six.
The Vanishing Crocodile Trail.
The Armoured Beast.
The Giant Tortoise.
The Synchronized Wawwwww.
The Last Survivor Of The Jurassic Era.
The Entirely Unsupported Heroic Backstory.
The Question Of What Happens Inside The Shell.
The Biological Tank.
The Temporary Suspension Of The Snake Quest.
And The Return Of The Quest Marker.
Children.
We wanted snakes.
We found a giant tortoise.
For several minutes,
snakes ceased to matter.
Because sometimes the world places an ancient armoured creature in front of you
and the only reasonable response is
Wawwwww.
Then we remembered.
Snakes.
And moved to the next exhibit.
