Sand In My Wheel Holes

Waca is not far away, buried in sand.

Head included.

He can't hear anything.

Nor does he know he is being searched for.

If discovery is imminent, it's not what he's expecting.

His thoughts are more elegaic.

Here I lie, deep in sand, sand in my beak, sand in my wheel holes, not going anywhere, ending my life in Saint Kilda, when all I wanted was to keep warm......

Gaius and Camus have spread out looking for Waca's head, but it's dark.

Only Victor has a torch.

I think there's a torch in my vehicle, says Camus. I'll get it.

Not so fast, says Victor. I must insist you stay here.

Then I'll go, says Gaius.

You can't go either, says Victor.

I'll go, says Terence.

No, you won't, says Gaius. You wouldn't be able to open the vehicle.

It's quite easy, says Camus. You just press this button.

That unlocks it, says Gaius. But it doesn't open the door.

True, says Camus. What if Victor goes with him?

A cunning ruse, says Victor. But I'm onto it. We'll make do with my torch.

He sweeps its beam across the sand in a wide circle.

Waca, under the sand, does not see the light passing above his position.

He is far back in time. He is in a French workshop, being fashioned by an artisan toy duck maker, who has already made his duck brother. They share a wooden platform, and four wheels. Later they sit on a shelf in a toyshop, hoping to be chosen......those were good times!

Think, says Victor. What were you doing before I arrived?

I was burying Waca, says Terence.

Why? asks Victor.

He wanted me to, says Terence.

But why? pursues Victor.

He wanted to be comfy, says Terence. So I made a hole and put him in it. 

Hard or soft sand? asks Victor.

Soft, says Terence. 

And his head was showing? asks Victor. 

I already told you, says Terence. 

Perhaps it was quicksand, says Camus.

Ever helpful, says Victor. And what were you doing?

You saw me, says Camus. I was in the carpark, about to go to sleep in my car.

That leaves you, Gaius, says Victor,

Indeed, says Gaius. I must commend you on your methodical procedure.

Normal police procedure, says Victor. But thanks. So, what were you doing?

Let me think, says Gaius. Hmm, yes, I was making a shallow dip in the soft sand to sleep in.

Aha! says Victor. You were throwing up sand?

As we can see, Victor is about to crack it, having followed his methodical procedure.

Waca, under the sand, is remembering how he and his brother were chosen for Terence by Belle, who had come to the toyshop to look for a parrot.

And not found one. 

Such are the workings of fate.