of resolutely not dwelling on killing the mammyth, Tundra Dawn resolutely doesn’t dwell on killing the two of them.
It may be summer on the tundra, but it is the tundra. There is still snow on the ground, at least where the story needs there to be some. In a patch of snow that Tundra Dawn and Cleveland and Tremendous Ptarmigan conveniently happen to ride past, there is a hole as if someone has pushed down with the bottom of a big, round wastebasket. Or it would look like that if big, round wastebaskets came equipped with stubby toes.
“Is that a footprint?” Nothing gets by Cleveland. Nothing gets through to him, but nothing gets by him.
“It is a footprint,” TP/PT says. “And do you know what?”
“No. What?” Cleveland says.
“It looks . . . It looks like it could be a mammyth’s footprint.”
Tundra Dawn rides on to the next convenient patch of snow. “Here is another footprint,” she says. “If we follow the mammyth’s toes, we will go in the same direction it is going. Pretty soon, we will catch up with it.”
“You are so smart, Tundra Dawn! I never would have thought of that,” Cleveland says. The good news for Tundra Dawn is that even half-assed sidekicks like hers give you egoboot. The bad news is, she totally believes he never would have thought of it.
They follow the tracks. And they follow the tracks. And they follow the tracks some more. They come to the edge of the cold, cold sea. Walking along the muddy beach are a Walrus and a Carpenter. The Walrus is fat. The Carpenter is skin and bones. In spite of the season, the Walrus and the Carpenter are caroling together.
Tremendous Ptarmigan waves to the pair. “How are you doing, Paul?”
The Walrus waves a flipper back. “Not bad. How about you, Ptremendous?”
“I’m fine. I’m looking for a mammyth right now,” the Tarmigan answers. “Oh, and have you seen Dave?”
“Dave? Dave’s not here,” the Carpenter says quickly.
He’s only just begun, but the Walrus interrupts him by pointing with that flipper. “Might be a mammyth over that way. Don’t know what else you’d call it,” he says.
“C’mon, sidekicks!” Tundra Dawn hollers. “We’re heading for the dénouement!”
“For the who?” TP/PT asks as they ride away.
“Not for the who. For the what,” Cleveland says.
“For which what?”
“For the end.”
They ride up a small rise and down the other side. They ride up another one. Tundra Dawn spots something moving on the far side. “Is that—?” she asks Tremendous Ptarmigan, who may have seen one before. “Could that be—?”
“Yes, I think it’s—” Ptremendous starts.
Then they softly and silently vanish away. Tundra Dawn’s armor clatters about her, or about where she has been—an epic ending granted a mock-epic heroine. For the mammyth, even if it doesn’t quite scan, is a Boojum, you see.
Give a Girl a Sword
by Kerrie L. Hughes
Jessie Ramirez showed her Illinois I.D. to the ticket taker of the Chicago Art Institute. As she put the card back in her pocket, she accidentally dropped her sketchbook and pencils. Sighing deeply, she picked them up and then walked inside.
Her long, dark hair was messy from a sleepless night, and her brown eyes were bloodshot from crying. Her mood was as black as the charcoal staining her fingertips. Battered cargo pants, combat boots, and a black turtleneck sweater that had seen better days made her look every inch the starving art student she was.
Last night Jessie had come home to the apartment she shared with her boyfriend to find him screwing some random girl on their bed. After a three-hour fight, she threw him out. It had been humiliating, stupid, and not entirely out of nowhere, if she were to be honest.
Now, all she wanted to do was retreat to some quiet area in her favorite museum and sketch something until she forgot her troubles. Best therapy in the world, because it was free on Thursdays and she was one paycheck away from going back home to live with her mom. Not something she wanted to do.
Jessie walked around until she saw the armory room. She hadn’t been in this wing since it had closed for remodeling, and she’d never really been into weapons and armor, but given her mood, it was butt-kicking 101, and that was downright intoxicating right now.
After a quick search of the room, she located the bench farthest from the noisy hallway and glanced at the nearby displays. Let’s see, shiny suit of armor, or ugly bunch of iron swords