Hello, there! I trust you had a wonderful Halloween. Mine turned out to be a bit of an adventure. I hadn’t really intended to do much on that evening, but my plans were altered by circumstance. Let me explain. You see, many of my friends assume that Halloween is my favorite holiday, possibly due to my eerie connection with the unknown and unseeable. In fact, although I enjoy wearing funny costumes, the only real satisfaction I derive from the occasion is rooted in the ready availability of sugary treats. On the actual evening of Halloween, I had retired to my office to sequester myself from the revelers and confirm some of my sports-based predictions by watching some basketball on television. I had been here only a couple of hours when I became cognizant of a nagging compulsion to consume candy. It didn’t take long to formulate a plan to acquire the objects of my desire. I threw on one of my more infrequently-used turbans and some billowy pantaloons. Some curly-toed shoes completed my intended “genie of the lamp” motif. Then I grabbed a plastic bag and headed out to commence my quest for candy. The first several houses turned me away, citing my considerable height and visible stubble as disqualifiers for this typically child-oriented event. The resident of one house, however, took the rejection too far. He poked fun at “the shirtless old vagrant begging for candy.” Naturally, his mockery led to fisticuffs and, inevitably, a visit from a local law enforcement official. In the end, no charges were filed, but I was obligated to return to my office and pass the rest of the evening in a candy-free funk. It appears that this particular holiday has passed me by, and that’s too bad. But you’re not here to listen to my complaints about Halloween, are you? No, you’re curious about the next episode of Survivor. Especially after what must have come as shocking surprises to you in last week’s episode, I can imagine your interest in this week’s offering must be at an all-time high. Well, take a seat and join me as I peer within my cracked crystal ball. Yes, now I see the words of this week’s title assuming their shape within the glass. It’s
Watch The Parts, Too
It’s a cool, cloudless night in the Pearl Islands. A light breeze rolls off the ocean and ripples the sides of the tents at Outcast Camp. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses can be heard from within the largest of these tents. “Someone had better get up and close that main flap,” Burton’s voice commands. “Don’t make me count to ten, by God!” There is a flash of khaki and colored badges as Lill appears in the doorway of the large tent, then the door drops into place.
Inside the tent, Burton is reclining on a pile of soft pillows. He’s wearing a burgundy smoking jacket and a pair of silk pajama pants of the same color. The jacket is loose and open, revealing his bare chest. Nicole is nestled under his left arm, Michelle under his right. They’re each wearing comfortable silken robes, and each is resting a glass of wine on Burton’s chest. He pats them on their backs as a signal to roll to the side so he can stand and address the group, and they promptly comply. “Tonight, my friends,” Burton says, raising his own glass in a toast, “we did the impossible. And I don’t mean simply winning the Challenge, although – I must confess – we wouldn’t have had a chance at all of winning it without me.” He pauses and makes eye contact with everyone in the room. “Hey, Shoulders! Easy on the escargots! We’re on a reduced caloric intake, for heaven’s sake! We don’t want you developing the gout on your way to Tribal Council.”
Ryan lowers his head in a guilty fashion, his cheeks bulging with food. He chews silently while staring at the ground in embarrassment.
“In a few minutes,” Burton continues, “we will go to Tribal Council and complete the journey we began earlier today with our victory in the Challenge.” He sips wine from his crystal goblet. “Each of you will cast your vote for me so that I may re-enter the game and exact our revenge on the fools who banished us. They know I’m coming, and they are, understandably, very afraid.” He chuckles softly and sips again. Michelle and Nicole giggle in delight and stare up at Burton with soft, moist eyes. “I don’t really care who you vote in as the second person,” he concludes, “but just make sure you work with me and stay out of my way. Thanks.” He smiles warmly at everyone, then returns to his stack of pillows. Nicole and Michelle roll back into place.
At that moment, the tent door is pulled to the side, and a small, bespectacled man with a clipboard under his arm leans in. “Tribal Council in five minutes,” he says, holding up a hand to visually illustrate the time constraint. Then he disappears.
“Well,” Burton says through a yawn. “I think some of us had better get dressed.” He grins at Michelle and Nicole. “The rest of you, wait outside.”
Half an hour later, the Outcasts arrive at Tribal Council. Jeff is waiting for them, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “Leave it to the losers to arrive late to their own party,” he grumbles. Then he heaves a deep sigh. “All right, everyone. Grab your torches and slide them into their holders behind you.” Each of the six Outcasts retrieves a cold, extinguished torch and follows Jeff’s instructions before taking a seat.
“Well,” Jeff says as he takes a seat himself. “Welcome to the first-ever torch-relighting Tribal Council. Drake and Morgan have already been here tonight to have two torches quenched. Before we leave here, two of you will have your torches re-ignited. Trish, how does it feel to have a shot at not being a loser anymore?”
“It’s great,” she says. “I can’t - ”
“Michelle,” Jeff interrupts. “Any concerns you might re-enter the game and just get kicked to the curb again?”
“Of course,” Michelle answers. “You always worry that - ”
“Burton! You’re being awfully quiet.”
“I didn’t think it was my - ”
“Skinny Ryan! Have you put on some weight? You haven’t violated the five-Oreos-a-day restriction we put in place at Outcast Camp, have you?”
“Wellll, I don’t think that - ”
“Nicole! Any second thoughts on wearing that dress? I bet you’re hoping you don’t get voted back in, aren’t you?”
“I’d love to have - ”
“It is...time to vote. Lill, you didn’t say jack during the discussion. Just for that, you vote first.”
The six Outcasts take turns heading to the voting confessional. After they’re finished, Jeff reveals that he’ll go tally the vote. When he returns with the voting urn, he pauses with his hands on top of it. “Once I read the names, the results are final. The person voted, uh, in will be asked to leave the Tribal Council area, um, immediately. Except...wait. Scratch that. We don’t know what tribe they’re going to yet. So I guess they’ll be asked to just stand off to the side so we can do the second round of voting. And then, once we’ve figured out who’s going to what tribe, then the other four will be asked to leave the Tribal Council area immediately. And, actually, I guess the two newly-reinstated Outcasts should leave immediately, too. But – and this should be obvious – don’t leave with the other guys. They’re still losers.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Man, I should’ve thought about this little speech before I got here. Anyway. I’ll read the votes.” He looks dramatically at the Outcasts as he removes the lid of the urn. “First vote. Burton,” he says. Burton nods deeply, eyes closed in acknowledgement. “Second vote. Lill.” He reaches into the urn again. “Third vote. Nicole.” Another parchment. “Fourth vote. Ryan. Fifth vote. Trish.” Jeff’s eyebrows are scrunched into The V of Confusion. “And the last vote. Michelle.” Jeff purses his lips and rubs his chin with the fingers of his left hand. Then his eyes widen in surprise as a revelation hits him. “You guys didn’t all vote for yourselves, did you?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course,” Ryan says. “We’re not allowed to vote against ourselves, right?”
“Riiiiight,” Jeff says suspiciously.
“Well, a vote for anyone else to return to the game is, in reality, a vote against yourself. We had to vote for ourselves.”
“But!” Jeff exclaims. “You can’t write your own name down, either. It’s always been that way.”
“It’s also always been the case that eliminated Survivors can’t come back,” Ryan counters. “And here we are. So how are we supposed to handle this situation?”
Jeff vigorously crumples the six pieces of parchment that had just been used to vote and throws them into the fire. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” he says, angrily. “You’re going back in there right now, and you’re going to vote again. And this time, you can’t write your own name down on the parchment. Lill! Go! And take this with you.” He hands her the voting urn.
The voting process repeats, and when it’s over, Jeff goes to retrieve the results. “OK, all that stuff I said last time still applies. You know, about the results being final and all that. All right? I’ll read the votes.” He removes the lid and pulls out the first parchment. “First vote. Burton.”
Burton looks at the Outcasts on either side of him and mouths the words, “Thank you.”
Jeff reads the next slip of paper. “Second vote. Burton. Third vote. Shawn.” Jeff executes a perfect double-take as he reviews the ballot he just read. He gathers the next one. “Fourth vote. Shawn.” He turns the parchment around so the Outcasts can see it. The same hurried scrawl that was on the first Shawn vote appears here. No attempt has been made to disguise the handwriting. Jeff looks at the final two votes. “OK, the last two votes were also for Shawn.”
A whoop of delight splits the air from the direction of the voting “booth.” Shawn appears, jumping up and down with his hands waving around high in the air over his head. “I’m back, baby!” he yells. “I am BACK! Aww, it feels good!” He runs over and grabs his torch, holding it out for Jeff to re-light.
Jeff stares at him coldly. “Not so fast, Buckminster,” he says. “You weren’t eligible to return to the game. And it’s rather obvious that you tampered with four votes. I mean, dude, your handwriting is exactly the same on all four ballots. Come on, man. Use your head!” Shawn’s shoulders slump in disappointment and he stares at the ground silently. “Tell me where you hid the real votes.”
Before he can react otherwise, Shawn’s eyes flash quickly to his left pants pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “Those are the real votes.”
Jeff steps forward quickly and plunges his hand into Shawn’s pocket before he can even take a step back. He pulls the hand out, revealing a pile of ballots, which he stuffs back inside the voting urn. “All right, wise guy,” Jeff says. “Let’s see that torch of yours.” Shawn meekly hands it over to Jeff, who grabs an end in each hand. “Shawn, the tribe has spoken.” And Jeff snaps the torch in two over his knee. “Go on. Get.” Shawn wanders off for a second time. Jeff yawns and shakes his head. “Man,” he says. “Weird night. Anyway, let’s count the rest of these votes. So far, it’s two votes Burton.” He pulls out the next parchment. “Third vote. Michelle.”
Burton grins at her. He nods and points at his own chest. “That was me,” he says.
“Fourth vote. Michelle.” Burton’s head snaps around to stare at Jeff, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Fifth vote. Michelle. Three votes Michelle, two votes Burton.” Jeff pulls out the final ballot. “First person voted back into the tribe.” Jeff turns the parchment around so everyone can read it. “Michelle.”
Michelle leaps off her stump and yells exuberantly. “Revenge, baby! Revenge, baby!” she screams over and over again.
Burton, who originally looked startled, has regained his composure. “Good planning, guys,” he says. “I’m going to need a trusted ally out there if we have any hope of turning this game around in our favor. Brilliant work, all of you.”
“Go ahead and bring me your torch,” Jeff says, pulling a Bic lighter out of his shirt pocket. When Michelle places her torch in front of Jeff, he flicks the lighter to life after several tries. Then, while the tiny flame gutters in front of him, he says, “Michelle, the Outcasts have spoken.” He holds the lighter into the bowl of the torch and waits for a while. It takes a couple tries with quite a bit of lighter-flicking in between before the torch finally sputters to life. Michelle takes her lit torch and stands near the entrance to the Tribal Council area. “OK,” Jeff says as Burton stands to grab his torch. “Next round of voting. Lill, you’re up again.”
Burton pauses, his hand on the torch. “Uh, hold on a minute. I had the second-highest vote total. I’m back in, right?”
“Nope,” Jeff says. “Two rounds of voting. Have a seat.”
“Oh,” Burton says quietly. He sits.
After the voting is done, Jeff reads the votes to the players. “First vote. Burton.” Jeff pauses dramatically. “One vote Burton. Second vote. Lill. One vote Burton, one vote Lill. Third vote. Nicole. One vote Burton, one vote Lill, one vote Nicole. Fourth vote. Ryan.” He clears his throat and licks his lips. “One vote Burton, one vote Lill, one vote Nicole, one vote Ryan.” He looks at the seated Outcasts. “This last vote had better not say Trish, you guys. I warned you about that already.” He pulls the parchment out of the urn and reads it. “The second person voted back into the tribe.” He reveals the vote to the others. “Lill.”
Burton freezes halfway into his standing motion. His eyes are wide and frightened. “Um. But... Uh...” He slowly sits down.
“Lill, bring me your torch,” Jeff says, flicking the starter on his lighter. She puts the torch in front of him, and everyone is surprised to see that it’s already lit.
“Actually,” Lill says. “If you remember, it never really went out.”
Buffs are randomly distributed to the new inbound tribe members: Lill to Drake, Michelle to Morgan. Then Jeff tells everyone it’s time to go. Burton lurches to his feet. “Wait!” he cries. “You guys don’t know pain until you’ve been voted out of the game. You don’t know how it feels!”
Lill squints at Burton. “Yes,” she says. “We actually do.”
“But I want another chance. You don’t know what it’s like to be rejected twice!”
“Um, yeah, we really do,” says Ryan. “Come on, big fella. Let’s go. It’s over.” He leads the mumbling and shell-shocked Burton out of the Tribal Council area. Nicole and Trish follow. Jeff leans against the voting podium and watches them go, his arms folded across his chest. Then he looks at Lill and Michelle, who stare briefly at one another, then turn and head in the opposite direction, back into the game.
Later that evening, the four remaining members of the Morgan tribe are gathered around the fire, awaiting the arrival of their new tribemate. Andrew is speaking animatedly while the others stare at him in silence. “So when the new person shows up, they get nothing, right? Everyone on board with that? I’m serious. They don’t get any of our food or water. They don’t stay in our shelter. I don’t even want them to participate in our bonhomie.”
Darrah’s head recoils in confusion. “Baione awn me? You wawn’ get slapped?”
Andrew shakes his head. “No, no, no! Bonhomie. You know, camaraderie. Friendly companionship. That sort of thing. Basically, I’m saying don’t talk to whoever it is.”
Darrah relaxes. “Naio prawblem.”
At that moment, the sound of an approaching motorboat can be heard. Andrew gets to his feet. “Moment of truth,” he mutters. “Let’s make this person’s life so miserable they can’t wait to get voted out again.”
The boat slows to a stop. A splash in the darkness indicates the arrival of the new Survivor. As the person wades ashore and then walks up the beach, the boat revs up and disappears. Finally, Michelle makes her way into the circle of light by the fire. “Reven - ” she begins, then corrects herself. “Hi, everyone!” The other four Morgans glare at her without speaking. Ryan sniffs. Tijuana coughs. Then, as one, the group turns and crawls into the shelter to get some sleep. They sprawl out in exaggerated fashion, making it clear that there is no room in the shelter for Michelle.
“Ohhhhkay,” she says. “I’ll sleep by the fire tonight, I guess. See you in the morning.”
Andrew snores loudly in response.
Next morning, the Survivors awake to a surprising notice in their Tree Mail. Over at Drake Beach, Rupert reads it aloud:
“Pack some things; preparation pays.
You’ll be gone for a couple of days.
Your piracy ‘final test’ is at hand.
If you fail, it may be your last stand.”
Rupert scowls at the clue for a while, then crumples it in his hand. “Who writes these hideous poems?” he growls. “I hate ‘em. Why not just tell us what we’re going to be doing? Why does everything have to rhyme? It’s ridiculous.” He sighs. “All right, everyone. I guess we’d better round up some food, blankets, stuff like that.”
The tribe springs into action. Fortunately for them, they’ve already planned the stripping of their camp for several days in anticipation of a merge. Lill even finds ways to make herself useful in her strange, new environment by tying things into knots for added security. In minutes, the Drakes have all the essentials and are in the boat, en route to Chopstalk Sharkaduck Snapchap Bay Beach. They arrive at the same time as their opponents, including Michelle, who is swimming behind the Morgan boat.
“Come on in, guys,” Jeff calls. He’s sitting on top of a large wooden box. Another identical box is several yards away further down the beach. “Get on your mats.” He pauses. “All of you. Savage, scoot over and make some room for Michelle. What the heck’s going on over there?”
“Tight fit,” Andrew mumbles. “Wasn’t sure we had enough space.”
Jeff rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I see the integration of the new players has gone swimmingly, at least in Morgan. Lill, how was your first night at Drake Beach?”
“It was all right. Still a bit awkward, but folks were generally friendly. It’ll just take time.”
Jeff nods. “That’s right. Time. That’s the ticket. And we’ve devised an Immunity Challenge for you that will give you the time you need to become fully integrated as a team. You heard me right. This is for Immunity. Did anyone bring the Immunity Idol? Savage?”
“Uh...wow. I guess we forgot it again. You know, what with all the confusion of the past couple of days, we weren’t really thinking about it.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Jeff says. “Kind of like the way you blew out of the fishing village at the start of the game with insufficient provisions? Like that sort of confusion?”
Andrew grinds his teeth before answering. “That’s right, Jeff. Exactly like that confusion. That’s what we experienced.”
Jeff grins and hops off the box. “I figured,” he said. “That’s why we took the liberty of stealing the Idol last night. Pretty tight ship you’re running over there, Savage.” He crouches behind the large wooden box and retrieves the Idol, burying it with a shwunk in the lid of the wooden box. “Immunity. Back up for grabs. OK, this is your final team Immunity competition so we thought it would be a good idea to give you a sort of final exam on the whole piracy thing we’ve been doing here. In these boxes behind me are the parts you’ll need to convert your little boats into authentic pirate galleons. Small ones, admittedly, but pirate galleons all the same. There is a map to the assembly manual in your team’s parts box.” He reaches back and pats the box behind him. “You’ll need to work well as a tribe to pull this off, and it’s going to take several days to complete. You’ll want people gathering and preparing food while others build. You may even want to try to pillage the other tribe’s supplies. Oh! And one more thing. Watch the parts, too.” Jeff turns and grins into the camera. “Not only are they fair game for your opponents to steal, but we’ll also be sending in our own pirates. A round-the-clock watch on your parts would be advisable. Not all of the parts are vital, but you may not know which ones are truly required to finish the galleon. If you can’t complete the ship because a key part is missing, you automatically lose Immunity. First tribe to fully assemble their pirate galleon, sail it completely around this island once, and then sink the other tribe’s boat with cannon fire wins Immunity. Everyone understand?” The Survivors nod. “Remember. This is a pirate final exam. Use what you’ve learned. Survivors ready? Go!”
Immediately, Rupert runs off the mat and leaps on top of the box on which Jeff was sitting. In a quick motion, he levers the Immunity Idol out of the lid. With one stroke of the Idol’s axe, he slices the latch off the box. “Get ta work, ma hearties!” he cries as he hops off the box. The other Drakes step up to the box and begin their search for the map, piling parts on the ground as they go. Meanwhile, Rupert runs over to the Morgan boat and begins hacking the bow of the boat with the Immunity Idol. Soon, a large hole is visible in the hull and still Rupert keeps chopping away.
“What are you doing, Rupert?” Andrew yells from the Morgan mat.
“I’m plunderin’,” Rupert replies with a sinister smile.
“Boy, he really has a problem with that word, doesn’t he?” Ryan says. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him use it right.”
“Rhino!” Andrew yells. “He’s destroying our boat!”
The two men run after Rupert, but he steps away from the Morgan boat and holds the Immunity Idol in front of himself. “Now, boys,” he growls. “Don’t be foolish. Besides, I’m finished here.”
He walks up the beach and joins his tribe. The others are now poring over the map they finally found deep in the box of parts. After some preliminary planning and discussion, Lill takes the map and runs off into the trees. Christa follows with the shovel.
Andrew and Ryan trot over to the Morgan tribe’s parts box. Michelle has already opened it and is hurriedly pulling out parts so she can find the map. She turns to the two men as they approach. “You’d better get over here and help me,” she says coldly. “Whether you feel the need to talk to me or not, I’m sure you don’t want to go to Tribal Council. Let me tell you. It’s no fun being voted out of the game.” She turns back to the box and continues digging. Ryan and Andrew wave Tijuana and Darrah over, then join Michelle in emptying the box.
Andrew mumbles something that could be “Sorry.” Or maybe it was “Archie,” although that wouldn’t make very much sense in this context.
Nearly an hour later, Lill and Christa return. Both of them are dirty and winded. Lill is holding a small paper-bound book. She runs up to the other Drakes who have arranged all the parts on the beach in a biggest-to-smallest fashion. Immediately, Lill begins reading, “’Step 1 of 478,’ Four hundred seventy-eight?!? Oh, I hope we brought enough food!”
The tribes work until the sun sets. The constant buzz of discussion is punctuated by the occasional raps of the tribes’ makeshift hammers. Fires are started to illuminate further work in the late evening. But eventually the tribes tire. Rupert agrees to stand watch for the Drakes’ parts box, while Andrew settles in for the Morgans.
Sometime past midnight, all is quiet on Chopstalk Sharkaduck Snapchap Bay Beach. Even Andrew and Rupert have nodded off. The former is on the ground in front of the box of parts while Rupert is seated on the edge of the box and leaning against the Immunity Idol, which he’s buried in the sand. A soft rustle is heard in the air. Then another. Finally, a soft “Rrrraawk!” disrupts the still of the night, followed by a heavy thump. In a moment, JP the giant parrot hops up the beach toward Andrew. He stares down at the slumbering man and blinks his eyes twice. “Rrrraawwk! Hey, Colby. It’s Jeff. Wanna play kickball?” Andrew smacks his lips and rolls away from the enormous bird. JP leans over the side of the box, grabs a large wooden dowel in his beak, and flies away.
All is quiet again. Then JP returns and hops over to Rupert, still sleeping on the edge of his tribe’s box. “Rrrrawwk! No, no, that’s fine. Understand you’re busy.” He leans over the side of the box.
In a flash, Rupert’s hand shoots out to the side and grasps JP by the beak. JP gives a muffled shriek and flaps his wings in an effort to get away. Rupert opens his eyes and smiles at his prisoner. “Well, hello there, little fella,” he says. He leans in close and makes eye contact with the panicky bird. “Wrong box,” he rumbles, releasing JP.
The bird hops back to Andrew. “Rrraaawk! Maybe just a walk in the foothills, Colbster? OK, later.” After a moment, JP removes another part from the box. He makes three or four more trips to the Morgan parts box. After the final visit, it’s starting to get light out. JP hops over to Rupert and gazes at him respectfully. “Rrrrawk! Get a sandwich with me, Colbinator? No, that’s fine. Maybe next time.” Then the bird flies away.
The tribes work all through the next day and into the night. The Drakes’ vessel is starting to actually look like a pirate galleon, but the Morgans’ looks more like the preliminary stages of a child-designed treehouse.
On the third and final day of the competition, the Drakes finish up their galleon early in the morning by applying the finishing touch, the deck cannon. “Awright, mates!” Rupert calls. “Let’s hop in and take her for a ride.”
Andrew panics. “No more time!” he shouts. “Get the S.S. Morgan in the water immediately! We have to beat them in the race. Now!” The tribe shoves the boat in the water and piles in. “Follow them!” he shouts at Ryan, who has taken up position at the tiller. The women begin rowing powerfully, but as the boat surges forward, the temporary patch job Andrew put in place on the bow of the boat gives way, and the ship begins to take on water.
“They’re vulnerable!” Rupert cries. “Let’s get ‘em now!” The tribe works together to load a cannon ball into the cannon and take aim at Morgan. Sandra lights the fuse with Lill’s torch (which she’s still carrying around with her, for some reason). Then the tribe watches as a giant cannonball explodes over the bow of their ship and smashes directly into the side of the Morgan boat. “Fire again!” Rupert yells as the Morgans dive over the sides of their boat. The next shot nearly tears the Morgan boat in half. And the final shot completely sinks it.
“Now let’s go!” Sandra cries. “We still need to get all the way around the island.” The wind catches the great main sail and it billows impressively. The Morgans are swimming frenziedly behind the Drake galleon, trying desperately to find some way to stop its inexorable progress. But the ship is too fast, and one by one, the Morgans give up the effort of pursuit. Eventually, even Andrew has to stop and just watch the ship go. About an hour later, the Drake’s galleon re-appears on the other side of the bay and pulls across the finish line.
Jeff has re-emerged from the trees. He has a napkin tucked into his shirt collar, and he’s wiping pancake syrup off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Caught me at breakfast,” he grumbles. “But, anyway, Immunity to Drake! And...you know what? It looks like you already have the Idol. That’s cool. Saves me a step. Well-earned, guys. Morgan, I have a date with you at Tribal Council tonight. And you can’t vote out Michelle. By the way, just leave your stuff here. This is where the two tribes will merge in the next couple of days. Convenient, huh? Since you no longer have a boat, I mean.”
“How do we get to Tribal Council without our boat?” Andrew asks dully.
“Right through those trees,” Jeff points up the beach. “You’re on the other side of the island.” He belches. “Whoosh! Blueberry pancakes. Sorry, guys. OK, see you tonight.”
That night at Tribal Council, the tribe turns on Andrew, voting him out 4-1. “I don’t get it,” he says as his torch is snuffed. “Why me? I’m your leader.”
Ryan chuckles and waves an open hand to indicate the bedraggled remains of the Morgan tribe. “Exactly,” he says. “We’re just thanking you for the job you’ve done.”
“Bah,” Darrah says.
And the visions are gone. Boy, this series just keeps getting weirder and weirder. Come back next week to see what happens when the two tribes merge. Oh, and bring some candy with you! Thanks!
Your comments are welcome. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org.