The Halfling

Chapter 3

Samuel's face creased. Something cold pressed against his mouth: water.

Theresa, he thought. She had nursed him while he was a sack of potatoes heavying her, another weight that she couldn't abandon.

His eyes shuddered open. He screamed.

Immediately, a wave of gooey sensation pressed against his mouth.

"Are you crazy, man! I'm trying to help you."

It talked. His eyes searched madly for the source.

"Down here, halfling,"

His eyes, following the voice, landed on a premium of white gelatin slumped on the rocks. It gained form in the moonlight but it was ever-shifting, not dissimilar to the mobility of the sea. Always, it was at discord in its shape.

He tried shaking himself from the grip but, he found to his surprise, was fastened like steel chains.

"Now," the slime said, "I'm not yet gonna take my hands off of you, hear. Because I don't quite trust you to behave. So, I'll tell you where you are, what your companion"—the slime pointed to Theresa—"has been doing for your sake and what I'm about to do for both of you."

"Why should I trust you," Samuel muffle-spoke.

The slime understood, however. "Because if I had really wanted to devour you two, I would have done it without waking you up. You're out of water; I'm surprised you lasted the time you did. Or perhaps the girl chanced on a stream or rivulet here and there."

"Please let go of my mouth," Samuel said. "I promise not to scream or do anything." He muttered: "And it doesn't feel good."

"Fine," the slime said. "I'm Morris."

Samuel's voice rang clear as the cover slid from his mouth: "Slimes have names. Color me astonished."

"And what," Morris grumbled. "You thought we strode about with nothing to address each other but our colors. Please. There is a culture of slime yet unknown to the upper world precisely because they do not know to look down. And literally even. How many of our peoples have perished because they were trod upon by a dwarf's heavy boot or an elf's imperial throne!"

Samuel believed it was delicate to let the slime finish his rant. Thankfully, it didn't last any longer.

"But to more important matters," the slime said. "You and your friend must leave. Now."

"Why?"

Morris blinked. Or, at least, if he had eyes, he would've. For there was a tremendous silence that ensued after the question. "Ah, I forgot. You were unconscious and it could only have been the girl that saw them."

"Them?" asked the boy.

"Yes, them. My kinsfolk. They've been right at your heels, seducing you both, you most especially." It peered at the still-sleeping Theresa. "I do not know how the girl has managed to prolong her consciousness. But it seemed she was not at all affected by the slime's wiles."

Samuel jumped. "That was the reason I heard voices the whole time we made our way through the canyon."

"To a degree," Morris replied. "The slimes accentuate everything that is within our minds and, true to our nature, we mold them to a degree of exaggeration. I myself, however, am incapable of it."

"What do you mean,"

"I meant what I said, said what I meant. Ever since gestation, never, oh never, had I been able to utilize those powers. Telepathy! A great twittering catastrophe I'll never be able to do it."