I'm Not Fishing

Camus follows Terence's glove sock footprints until....

He stops near a bitterbush.

He's seen two blue holes in the sand.

He looks into them.

Terence must have stopped here, sunk into the mud to the tops of his glove socks, and somehow got out again.

Yes, there are his footprints, heading for the sea.

Camus tugs at the tops of the glove socks.

The bitterbush blue butterfly watches from a bitterbush branch.

Should it say something? Such as "Hands off my glove socks!"?

However, Camus has thought twice. So what if the glove socks are police property?

He laughs to himself. A good question.

He leaves the glove socks in situ, and continues in Terence's footsteps.

The bitterbush blue butterfly leaves its branch and flutters over the glove socks.

How to extract them? That's the problem.

Terence has reached the shore birds. Two black-winged stilts.

Go away, say the two black-winged stilts. 

I am, says Terence. 

Well, we're waiting, says the two black-winged stilts.

What for? asks Terence.

You to go away, say the two black-winged stilts.

First, says Terence, have you seen Roo-kai, my parrot? 

No, no parrots, say the two black-winged stilts.

He doesn't look like a normal parrot, says Terence. 

We still haven't, say the two black-winged stilts. Now get off our sand. 

Camus rushes up with the empty police water bottle.

The black-winged stilts fly off to a less busy spot, and resume poking for miniscule crustaceans.

Any luck? asks Camus. Have they seen him?

No, says Terence. It's hopeless.

I'll just fill this bottle with sea water, says Camus. And then we'll go back.

He steps into the sea.

Further out, a lesser crested tern swoops down into the water.

And comes up with nothing.

Camus stands up. The water bottle is full.

The lesser crested tern paddles over.

This is your fault, says the lesser crested tern.

My fault? says Camus.

Your collective fault, says the tern. For over-fishing.

I'm not fishing, says Camus. I'm collecting sea water, to wash our feet when we return to the car.

That police car? asks the tern.

Yes, says Camus.

You'll be lucky, says the lesser crested tern. It's gone off without you.

Camus turns. The police car is moving!

Merde! Did he not put the brake on?