Talk to the tortoise

His passage over the ridge had dislodged loose sand, sending it down the face of the ridge and knocking the tortoise onto its back.

"Hey there, you don't know a good sandal repairman, do you?", he said ironically, unsure of whether the statement was ironic or not. He suspected it wasn't. The tortoise lay on its back, its legs waggling about in the air and appearing to be in some distress, but somewhat slower then he was used to.

He watched as the tortoise lay there, its belly baking in the sun. But he didn't do anything.

Why was that?

Thoughts of his mother came into his head. He dismissed them and picked the tortoise up.

"I shall call you Hillary!"

A glint of light caught his eye from the horizon, but to far away to make out what it was. Perhaps it was a car, Perhaps it was a Prada store. Perhaps a lion made of Aluminium. He hoped all three.

The End

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