The campfire faded, giving in to the darkness taking over. I no longer needed any light; my fingers deftly added new stitches by touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the wind tease the weary, grayish coals grinning with crimson flashes at every blow. The wind left them alone for a while, as though taking a deep breath, but then attacked the dying flames with more strength. Buzzing up like a stirred hive, the fire cast orange light all over the dozing hollow, scaring the shadows off to hide behind the trees. Growing bolder, the darkness pushed its stooping, silent shadow back onto the bleeding fire that had less and less strength to snap back.

Asp was slippery in my hand, its tiny scales tickling my fingers as I pulled the rough thread through with the thick, long-eyed needle.

Kasamarchi was well-prepared. Not only did he have a needle and thread, but also a flat metal piece the size of my nail. Upon closer examination, I saw it was a sharp, polished head for a tiny spear.

Before nightfall, Kasamarchi handed me this weird thing along with the needle, telling me to put it on the snake’s tail before sewing the hole. Then he made the fire which instantly flared up, crackling loudly on the dry wood and spitting whitish sparks around to keep us away.

Knowing better than to argue, I simply put the spearhead on Asp’s broad tail. I couldn’t help noting what a perfect fit this dark metal piece was, as though custom-made for my snake to wear.

“So I guessed the size right,” Kasamarchi said, turning away to spread the crocoboat skin by the fire.

I’d give a dollar for the thoughts in his shaggy head. But I had no dollar to spare, so I just shrugged it off and went back to sewing my snake’s wound.

Now, putting in the last stitches as I sat in front of the fading flames and feeling the weight of Asp’s new metal tail, I tried to imagine how he would use it the next time he woke. But, with sleep creeping over me, this image would not come, leaving me with only the past day’s memories and meeting our “kayak.”

When it had climbed out on the bank, the weird creature had frozen, laying its flat, forking nose down on the wet boulders. Its skin looked like hard stone.

Warily, I came out from behind Kasamarchi’s back.

The animal resembled a rusty-brown crocodile, but with a very wide body, a deep slit running along its spine from head to tail.

A pair of dull, yellow eyes, as though painted on the creature’s nose, sat deep beneath the protruding brow that sprawled along its neck to transform into a couple of high, massive combs flanking its spine, almost touching over the back legs and lowering gradually to disappear at the tip of its forked tail.

Stepping up, Kasamarchi squatted to pull at the animal’s protruding nostrils. Pounding its tail on the water, the creature turned its other nostril to the boy.

“Come closer. Don’t be afraid.” Toying with his “kayak,” he glanced back at me. “This is Twina-Twin, a crocoboat. We will ride it.”

Ride? Too scared to approach this monster, I squinted at a small cavity in the middle of its back, between the combs. Are we supposed to sit there?

Standing up, Kasamarchi stepped into the water to put his other foot…right into that cavity. His leg went in thigh-deep.

Am I dreaming? I asked myself, probably for the hundredth time that crazy day.

Getting his other leg over the comb, Kasamarchi sat down into the cavity as though into a real kayak, sinking up to his armpits. The crocoboat’s sides expanded slightly to accommodate the boy.

“Get in, Ana.” He waved a hand at me.

The crocoboat turned its side to me as though inviting me.

Should I pinch myself? It’s high time I wake up from this nightmare.

Feeling wary, I took a few steps, the rafting adventures with a group of Mom’s friends popping into my thoughts. Clenching my teeth, I put my foot into the animal’s back. Sinking knee-deep, it found a springy bottom that felt like an ordinary boat’s rubber interior.

Once I shifted my weight to this foot, the crocoboat’s muscles tensed, becoming hard as stone. Warily, I sat down behind Kasamarchi, pushing the crocoboat’s flesh to the sides and tucking my legs.

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The weird animal’s insides were soft and dry with no blood or entrails. Overall, it was rather comfy except for the cramped leg space. Moving back a bit, I found a more comfortable position, reclining onto the backside of the opening, like in an airplane seat, and stretching my legs.

Where’s its spine? I suddenly thought. It should’ve been right where the two of us took our seats. But it wasn’t.

So what? Is that the only weird thing here?

The local apes are half-horses.

Some birds here are made of dry ice, not flesh and bones.

And dogs are anything but friendly to humans, silent and suspiciously well-coordinated when attacking as a group.

The silver lining was that Asp completely blended in. He was no more bizarre than any other member of the local fauna.

What about local flora?

It must include some real pieces of work too. Yet to be discovered.

But still, where’s the damn spine?

A vague guess flashed across my mind again. The first time was when I’d seen the crocoboat’s forked head and tail. Now my thighs pressed into the animal’s ribs and I could feel these ribs curve out, not in. So—

“Are you seated?” Kasamarchi asked without looking back, interrupting my thought.

“Yeah,” I replied.

He gripped at the combs on both sides.

…and the crocoboat jolted into motion, its muscles rubbing against my thighs as this live kayak sailed off.

Tensing up, I clutched at the combs, preparing for anything.

The crocoboat glided upstream, rounding the protruding rocks and climbing over rapids, cleaving the water smoothly like a large motorboat—but the kind of a boat that could dive and climb.

Contrary to my expectations, I did not get drenched. The high combs protected us from the splashes, the leather edge of the “cockpit” in the animal’s back embracing our waists like an apron, and the crocoboat never plunged so deeply as to submerge the combs.

Sure, my face and arms got splashed all over, but it was pleasantly refreshing on my hot skin. The whole experience felt like an exotic ride in a water park, but with our ‘slide’ flanked by real rocky hills, steep on the left and sloping on the right, instead of plastic walls.

“They are born alone,” Kasamarchi said, staring ahead.

“They?”

“The crocs.”

“What crocs?” I asked just in case; I had a good guess.

“Twin and Twina. They’re seven years old. A year ago, they mated. Their babies must be three months old, shedding their first skin only yesterday. We’ll use it to make your clothes.”

“So it…this crocoboat…there’s two of them?”

“Yes. Twina’s on the left; Twin is on the right.”

“How do they get to be like this?”

“They stop growing by the age of seven. That’s when they shed their last skin and mate. After mating, their skin becomes hard as stone.” Kasamarchi clapped on Twina-Twin’s side. “But not at once. At first, it’s raw flesh. Red. Tender. Vulnerable. So the two of them climb into a cave, lie down by each other’s side, and fall asleep for six months. In that sleep, their bodies join together, merging along the side.”

I looked at the crocoboat with different eyes. So that’s why it has no spine and these bulging ribs. They form two rib cages alongside the merger line.

“And this…this hole?” I muttered, looking down at the cockpit we were sitting in.

“It’s where baby crocs come out when their parents’ merger into a single, hard-skinned crocoboat is complete.”

Drifting off from drowsiness, I struggled to believe his words.

But Twina-Twin made a compelling case for its existence by confidently moving upstream, cleaving the whitewater, overcoming Lizard’s twists and rapids, and pushing off the rocks on the bottom. Is each of them using its single remaining leg? Or rather two legs: one front and one back.

Stunned, I peered at this awesome creature’s back in front of me.

Darkness fell rapidly.

At last, we saw an opening between two rocks. Twina-Twin turned there, its belly rustling on the rocky bottom. Screeching along, half out of the water, the crocoboat stopped. Kasamarchi jumped out deftly. “Let’s go. We must find the babies and take the skin.”

Crouching next to Twina-Twin, he patted the animal’s nose. The crocoboat pounded its tail happily on the water, splashing us all over.

“Try them on, Ana.”

Kasamarchi’s voice shattered my memories. I stared at his dark figure against the crimson backdrop of the burned-down fire. Asp’s side had been stitched back together, the spear-like head was a perfect fit on his tail, and…and I seemed to have real clothes now.

And real footwear—a pair of sandals with long leather straps in the boy’s other hand.

“Thank you Kasamarchi.” For the first time, I addressed him by name.

He turned away, towards the fire, for me to change. Shedding the rags of what had been a nearly new nightgown, I put on the new clothes he’d made for me.

What’s this? Pants? A bit too wide in the waist, but the leather lacing allowed me to adjust them for a perfect fit.

And this? A vest? Yes. I laced it up to my neck.

Good boy.

Last came the sandals. I tied them around my ankles. What a perfect eye for size he has.

“Great job. Thank you.”

“No trouble, Ana,” he said, tinkering with the fire. “Now go to sleep.”

He pointed to where the smoke rising over the crimson coals was carried by the wind. Looking there, I saw a fur bed and…a blanket? Yes. Made of another baby croc’s skin.

Kasamarchi started to blow on the fire, sprinkling it with something that made the smoke thick and whitish. Creeping all over the hollow, it spread a sweet smell that was making my head dizzy.

“What…are…you…adding?” I asked, my lips barely moving, my lids suddenly heavy.

I must reach the fur bed now. Or I’ll fall asleep right here.

“The Penetration Grass. It cuts out the need for explanations. Sleep. By morning you will know everything.”

The last thing I could remember was sinking into the incredibly soft fur…

…or milk-white fog…

…furry-white fog…

…no, foggy milk whi…