Welcome back to Altahalib-4.
Ms. Ewing doesn't bother to oversleep. Before the Luganda sun has even risen, she's already had her breakfast: two shots of black coffee. They'll probably make her need to pee while she's out...but she doesn't give a shit. She's here to find that Barnes boy. And she has NO idea about how, or whether, she's going to judge him for his..."attempted rustling."
The lodge's attendants have already done a tally; all of the Ewings' buffalo still, very much, live in Southfork. None have been rustled, poached, or even snatched by varmints. (Funny; Ms. Ewing once never thought she'd live to see the day where she could apply the term "varmint" to a bachelor group of lions. In Dallas, at least, that term is more often applied to coyotes, grackles, and June bugs...)
Ms. Ewing's met a few Barnes men, who'd she'd LOVE to apply a "varmint" label to. She's pretty sure that this Barnes boy, who she's on a mindless quest to find, is just like them. He was raised by them, after all. Again, Ms. Ewing STILL has no idea why in Dallas's hells she's doing this.
As the utility cart leaves the lodge, its driver turns on the radio. It plays an old song from Stevie Nicks, "Too Far from Texas." The song VERY much applies to Ms. Ewings situation. Or rather, the title does. As for the song's actual message...that, Ms. Ewing is less sure about.
As uneasy as she is about this...the Hong Kong Han lodge hand drives the cart for her. She soon learns, during the trip, that his first name, at least, is An-yan. He's relieved that she finally knows his name. And while he is a bit relieved that Ms. Ewing knows some Mandarin Chinese...as well as very amused, that she nearly got "clobbered" by his racist coworkers just by asking them if they spoke English in Mandarin...he knows English, too, so he becomes a good house servant, and talks to her in English, whenever he does.
Alas, Ms. Ewing soon isn't so much concerned about An-yan's race, as she is his moodiness. It's very unstable...or rather, that's how she perceives it. It bothers her even more that he, like most of his coworkers, works shirtless most of the time. For a moody guy, he's sure got some nice ripping... He's not quite Will Yun Lee, but he's not quite a sumo wrestler, either. And for An-yan, that would be insulting, if he was; sumo's a Japanese invention.
An-yan's still learning the terrain...but he's learned a lot, since starting out. In truth, the Luganda gardener is more qualified to drive Ms. Ewing around. Alas, he's always been more secure behind a hoe. (And that's just as much an innuendo as it is a literal fact.) Laurel...just isn't yet sure if she's ready to be that ho. But then, she'd actually have to be a ho to qualify, and she's not. She's a fucking Ewing, and a virtual noblewoman. And if the Luganda can't get that into his fragile little mind, too bad. If he wants to get behind a white trash ho, he can do that to an Indian.
Up the trail, An-yan stops the cart. He digs out a map, and orienteers it. At least he's gotten to where he doesn't need to pull out a compass before getting started. With luck, he doesn't have so much iron in his diet that it distorts his sense of North. But then, from what Laurel has heard, an excess of iron can actually ENHANCE a man's sense of North... Alas, the only interest Laurel has in North is if the Barnes boy is up that way.
A noise distracts Laurel. It sounds like a cat purring...only lower, and louder. And by the sounds of it...there's a whole chorus, where that comes from. Fear creeps all over Laurel. She fears to...but she looks in the noises' direction.
Just as she dreads, it's a bachelor group of lions. They're not lionesses; they're male lions who don't qualify to have prides. For the most part, they all look like they've had one too many zebras to eat. And based on how many flies buzz around their sleeping carcasses, as well as how many lizards leap and prey on the flies, they probably also SMELL like they've had one too many zebras to eat. Laurel would hate to think that she was a filly. And yet, why wouldn't it be?
She's tense, of course. But it should get too bad, as long as...
They twitch in their sleep. And sometimes, their heads swing around in Laurel's direction. Laurel would hate to think that this is as bad as it'll get, for as long as it takes for An-yan to...
Alas, An-yan's still deep in the map. Where Laurel comes from, some nerds take shorter amounts of time to orienteer a map...or to change a tire, for that matter. A lot of Ewing women take less time to read a Reader's Digest from cover to cover while sitting on the toilet.
As he orients the map, his yellow hand drifts away...and lays itself gently on Laurel's knee. Laurel acknowledges this...and slaps his hand away.
"What," she sneers, "are you doing?! Are you trying to get yourself fired?! Or worse, drawn and quartered by one of my many male relatives?!"
He holds up his hand. "Sorry. It's just that... You were acting tense, there, and... I was just trying to..." He sighs. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again."
He puts the cart in gear, and drives away. Laurel squeals, as it takes off. In her state, she's lucky that she doesn't fall out. Right now, she doesn't know whether to feel embarrassed or ashamed...if there's even a difference between the two.
Up ahead, the ruins of the abandoned truck and stock trailer lie. The trailer gate is still open. The truck is locked...but the windows are rolled down. That's no shock; it's always too damn hot out here to ever have them up.
The cart arrives at the water hole...just as the herds have moved on. Laurel's still not sure why they've come out here so early. When buffalo water, they really love to take their time. With that said, it's a mystery as to how any water hole in Uganda stays watered for long, in the dry season. Right now, Uganda's about halfway through it. Dallas, meanwhile, is in the dawn of autumn...as weird as it still feels, to associate those two words with each other.
From a deadwood tree nearby, a fish eagle watches. For now, Laurel's just glad it's not a crowned crane. She might not be as glad, if she wanders too far away from the cart, or from An-yan.
Laurel tries to apologize to An-yan, for having overreacted to the feel of his hand. He only scoffs, and goes about his business. It's just as well. As racist as the Ewings have been known to be, it's just as well that Laurel owns up to how much she secretly hates her staff for being non-white. It's a shame, really; if the Ewings didn't have to be racist, Laurel wouldn't mind going a few rounds in bed with An-yan...although she's not sure if he'd be her first choice.
Here and there near the water hole, huge bullfrogs crawl across the shores. Laurel's tempted to scream, each time she sees one. She hates to think what they eat, that makes them that big.
Most of Laurel, of course, doesn't want to abandon the security of the cart...if not the security of An-yan. But then, she thinks about the Barnes boy. She thinks about how deep both her family and the Barneses could sink, if neither family ever found out whatever happened to little Remy.
In a few hours, the thought of "little Remy" will be the absolute last thing on her mind.
Leaving An-yan to build sand castles on the water hole shore, Laurel lets him be, and goes after her own quarry. Laurel almost thinks it amusing, that An-yan would consider sand castle-building a form of ideal busy-work to do, while his boss is on patrol. He need not stress out too much, though. Laurel's about to leave him in peace. Neither one of them yet realizes for how long she'll end up doing that.
Nearby, a trio of buffalo bullocks have stayed behind. They're near the water's edge, still drinking. With luck, Laurel will be the most dangerous thing that tries to sneak up on them as they drink. This water hole is hardly of impressive size; Laurel doubts there are any crocodiles lurking in its depths.
Laurel almost wouldn't mind, if there was a crocodile. She's actually rather disappointed, that she can't see any sunbathing on the shores.
As far as she's come, her shoes are now a useless, and embarrassing, wreck. So she scraps them, and goes barefoot. Lucky for her, they were her cheapest pair...as unlikely as that sounds.
From the ground behind her, bovine magic, from the Bovine Dimension, rises. Stealthy as a panther, it follows her around. The cloud seems to get bigger, as it follows her. It sways in one direction, each time she turns her head slightly. It's got an advantage. Now, it's only a matter of time before it gets to use it.
Up ahead, a bullfrog lies. He's literally stuffed. The hind legs and hind of a duiker stick out of his big mouth. Again, bullfrogs are gluttons. Laurel...would just hate to think that the duiker was still alive when the bullfrog tried to eat it.
Laurel's going to hate this. She's prepared to barf a few times. Alas, she can't leave that frog to die...for the same reason she can't leave Remy Barnes to die of the scars of his sin...as much as there's nothing else every other Ewing would rather do.
Gagging, she bends over. She takes the half-swallowed duiker by its hind legs. She half-gags and half-pulls her way backwards...until the bulk of the carcass slides right out of the frog's throat. Once it's out, she pitches it away.
Without a word of thanks, the bullfrog turns away from her, wanders back into the water, and vanishes beneath the surface. Laurel scoffs, while watching her leave.
"He's not a Barnes," she mutters, "but he might as well be." She hesitates. "Come to think of it...a lot of my own Ewing men, it seems, have shown me even less courtesy, over the years..." She shrugs. "O well. It's just one of those things, I guess..."
Now, the bovine magic makes its move. It surrounds her. It ensnares and blinds her. Within itself, it opens a portal. Flailing, Laurel falls in. The cloud follows her in...right before the portal seals itself.
In her absence, a family of banded mongeese wander past. If they can tell that a human's been here only moments before, they don't prove it.
Hours pass. Night approaches. And it's not alone. There's a storm coming, too. It brings clouds, lightning, rain, and only slightly cooler temperatures.
For Remy, and for the time being, the clouds keep their distance. Also for the time being, he shelters in a wooded thicket. Most days these days, he stays in one place. The times and his circumstances have both made him a slave to his own soul. Funny; he didn't even know that he had one, until he tried to rustle some of the Ewings' dogies.
For now, he cares for a litter of dik-diks. Their mother has wandered off. Either that, or a griffon buzzard has snatched her. Dik-diks are not a hard catch. Hence, it's no wonder that most of Uganda's predators hunt them.
As the storm approaches, Remy lies on his side. The dik-diklets take turns, suckling from his nipples. Remy didn't even know he could produce breast milk...until recently. His own mother sure as hell never taught him how.
Up from the grass, a boomslang crawls. No doubt, its guts growl for a taste of some dik-diklet flesh...
Quick as lightning...and simultaneously with a flash of lightning...Remy apprehends the snake, by pinching its neck. He beheads it, and tosses its ruins into the thicket.
Heroically and maternally, he's protected his litter. His litter is about to get one runt bigger...whether he's expecting or not.
Throughout the night, the lightning flashes. Thunder rumbles. The storm blows. The clouds darken the sky...as dark as it is already. And the rain knows no limit.
High above, the storm rocks the trees in the thicket. Lucky for Remy and his litter, though, it seems this is hardly the first storm this thicket has had to weather.
He lies on his side. The dik-diklets stay close. Most of them don't dare wander off into the storm...although a few try to broker a deal, where they don't leave the thicket. Even so, Remy would hate for them to meet another boomslang this way...as unlikely as boomslangs are to hunt in this weather...sheltered though this thicket is.
The dik-diklets are uneasy. As for Remy, though...he's slept through worse. He...just didn't realize HOW much worse, until after he couldn't rustle the Ewings' buffalo. Again, the story of his failure is rather thrilling. Alas, now's not the time to elaborate on it. Whatever it is, it's the reason why he hasn't tried to return to Dallas.
Now, he lies on his back. Up there, the lightning flashes through his eyelids. And the occasional drop of rain trickles down, from the tops of the trees, onto his face. Somehow, he's got that resolved. One spell of bovine magic later...and he wears a sleep mask over his eyes. Now, he can snore...and will probably start doing that, in a moment.
The ground near his pecs is left bare. At certain angles, the part of his side between his back and his right pec is like a very tall wall. It is, for sure, to some of these dik-diklets. To them, though, it's not very high.
In this space, a portal of bovine magic opens. Through it, Laurel falls. Via a stint in the Bovine Dimension, she is now a thousandth her normal size. She's like a bug to most things in Southfork. And to think that the Ewings are more accustomed to paying someone to deal with bugs...
The Bovine Dimension also gave her a fashion upgrade...or a downgrade, however you prefer to see it. Rather, they've stripped her down. Now, she's in Bohemian chic-patterned lingerie. Her head has been shaved, too. She's an easy target for male eyes. Down here and at this size, she can't do much to evade them. But at least, perhaps, she might be invisible to most of them. Against the bad ones, she can only hope. For the good ones...she can't wait to be spotted...as semi-embarrassed as she'd be to need his help.
Above her, the portal vanishes. From here, it takes her some time to absorb her new circumstances. She's not used to baby dik-diks being so humongous.
The "wall" of Remy's pec, of course, gets more of her attention. She squeals and almost falls down, in fact, when she sees him. To her, he's VERY big. She's had some sex dreams about guys being this big, but... She never thought they'd become real.
He gets her attention when he starts snoring. When he does, he causes earthquakes where she stands. She's smaller; hence, vibrations that she could've dismissed at her normal size now affect her more.
As if one of the dik-diklets could read her mind...he collects her atop his nose, raises his head, and sets her down at the base of Remy's pec. He then turns his head, huddles near the side of Remy's pec, and appears to go back to sleep...if he was even asleep before.
By now, the lightning is less frequent. The storm has dimmed to a simple wind. The rain has let up a bit, too...although it still comes down outside the thicket.
Now, Ms. Ewing hangs from the edge of Remy's pec. Her Bohemian panties-clad ass is highlighted...for now.
Alas, Laurel is part-klipspringer. She ascends the edge easily...and walks in circles around this boy's pec. About now, she finally starts to wonder what he's doing in the midst of a wooded thicket on the Ugandan savanna...and not in a comfy home in North America, where you'd expect to find a lot of white boys as nicely-forged as he is...
At last, she crosses paths with it. Or rather, in some ways, it IS the path. For some reason, some Barnes men like to brand themselves with branding irons. The Barnes family doesn't own as much cattle as the Ewing one does...but obviously, they can compete with the Ewings.
Either way, the underside of Remy's right pec has been branded with the symbol of a barn owl. It's one of the Dallas Barneses' few sigils. Laurel still isn't sure where he got the dignity to have himself branded in such a sensitive spot... But of course, Laurel has learned over the years not to spend too much mental effort trying to make too much sense of Barnes customs. Otherwise, she just might inadvertently transmutate into a Barnes...or worse, marry one. Laurel's heard of baptism...but she still doesn't know how she feels about transforming into a Barnes that way. To Christians, that'd be sacrilegious...and for the Ewings, that'd be bad. A lot of their conservative clients, after all, are Christian. Laurel STILL can't imagine why.
Even so, this is how Laurel finds out that her new obsession is a Barnes. It's only a matter of time after that, of course, before she deduces that because he's a Barnes, and because he's lost and alone in the middle of the Ugandan wild, that he's THE Barnes; the one that allegedly came out here just to rustle some of the Ewings' cattle.
Hence, it would be time for the Ewings to judge him...if only there was an Ewing out here big enough to do that. Alas, now that Laurel is very tiny...and now that she's seen for herself how breathtaking a nude Barnes boy can be when she's this much smaller than him...she's no longer convinced that she's the Ewing for the job.
It's just as well. Laurel's not his mother. And somehow...that never felt so good.