Black Marks Explained

At the campsite.

Wake up! says Terence. It's morning!

Eheu! says Gaius, as he opens his eyes.

EARLY morning! groans Pierre-Louis.

Gaius stands up. He is damp underneath, which he expected.

Pierre-Louis is stiff.

He picks up the apple bag on which he was sleeping and looks for the apples.

He thought he had left them just there.

Where are they?

Curses! says Gaius. That means no breakfast.

Look! says Terence. I didn't find a spider but I found an easter morning!

I think he means me, says the eastern mourning skink.

An eastern mourning skink! says Gaius. Well done, Terence.

That was why I said wake up, it's morning, says Terence.

A joke we made up on the way here, says the eastern mourning skink. 

Very good, says Gaius. Did you hear that, Pierre-Louis?

Yes, says Pierre-Louis. But I'm more concerned about the apples. 

Where's Squatty? asks Terence.

Asleep in your carriage, says Gaius. 

Terence runs to his carriage. 

Wake up Squatty!

Squattu opens her eyes. Squee! 

Come out! says Terence. I found a skink.

It can wait, says Squattu.

She closes her eyes again.

Terence goes back.

Pierre-Louis is still looking for the apples.

Gaius is admiring the eastern mourning skink's markings.

Black stripes down each side. Another stripe from above the ear to the base of the tail. Head and limbs flecked with black markings.

I had not expected to see a lissolepis coventryi, says Gaius.

I had not expected to see a cement boy in gecko shorts, says the skink.

Touché, says Gaius. But the cement boy is not endangered.

Glad to hear it, says the eastern mourning skink. He's a nice boy. He asked me why I was sad.

And why were you? asks Gaius.

I wasn't, says the eastern mourning skink.

Perhaps you had told him your name, suggests Gaius.

I had, says the eastern mourning skink. He misunderstood it.

Of course, says Gaius. And then you explained?

I said mourning was like being sad, says the eastern mourning skink.

There you have it, says Gaius. He made a reasonable assumption.

In fact, none of us eastern mourning skinks are sad, says the eastern mourning skink. 

Doubtless, says Gaius. It's your black markings that gave you that name.

And yet, says the eastern mourning skink, other creatures have black markings.

That is well observed, says Gaius. One doesn't call a zebra a mourning zebra, nor a penguin a mourning penguin.

I suppose we must live with that, says the eastern mourning skink.

Not necessarily, says Gaius. Many of my fellow naturalists call you a swamp skink. There's something to think about.

It's not as classy, says the eastern mourning skink.

A factor to consider, says Gaius.

I record this conversation in order to show that Gaius is a natural historian with a great deal of empathy.

But that will do now.