Normally, the cart down near the beach was quite lively. Four teenaged boys living under one very small roof tended to have that sort of effect. But this late July afternoon, things were blissfully quiet. Moril had been spending a lot of time with Luna, and from what Edward could tell, Kialan had occupied himself with chasing after the one
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Ed's mechanic, who apparently manned the boat, had given him a sack of them to bring home. Al had rummaged for some seasoning, wrapped them in napkins, and had found five whip-slender sticks on his way back to use to cook them on.
He looked pretty pleased.
"Notes?" he asked brightly, stopping in front of his brother, quirking his head at the notebook.
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"We might need a good few days to cover all the ground. Maybe more if we have to go out of our way avoiding dinosaurs."
Edward dog-eared the page, closed the notebook, and set it to one side. He paused, and sniffed the air. "Al, you smell like fish!" he said, wrinkling his nose, "what've you been doing?"
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"I do not!" he protested, then offered out the bag.
"It's shrimp!"
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