The Biggest Sandpit

“Listen, I like your home,” Nanshe was saying, but if Petra didn’t understand her, she’d probably thought that she hated all of this. “Well, I don’t.” Okay, well. That made sense. Of course, she didn’t like it. Her face said it all.

“Because of the sand?” Petra asked. She thought Nimare were a little strange, now that she’d spent some time with Nanshe. Her skin was rough to the touch, her bones sturdy so she could handle the depths, and yet she struggled with the desert because “the sand got everywhere”. Okay so? And water didn’t get everywhere? Petra was a little confused about all that.

“The sand sucks,” Nanshe said, though her voice lacked the finality that Petra had expected. “And you suck at making sand castles.”

“Hey!” Petra retorted. “Come on, that was uncalled for!”

“You do. It’s because you don’t know how to utilize water,” Nanshe claimed.

“You don’t know how to utilize water,” Petra repeated in a mocking tone and then, just to show that she was a little offended, used her tail with its spikes to crush the sandcastle she was building. Instead of being indignant and disappointed, like Petra had hoped she would be, Nanshe just laughed. “Teach me then!”

“Of course I will!” Nanshe promised and added, just like Petra knew she would: “Under one condition.”

But even before Petra promised her anything, Nanshe moved into her space, sat down next to her and started shaping the little mound of sand in front of her.

“What are your terms?” Petra asked, diligently repeating Nanshe’s movements when the woman made small stops.

Her hands were clawed — like Petra’s — but the hard, golden scales made them seem armoured, sharper. And still, despite the seeming clunkiness of her hands, or the strange, sharp slope her forearms had, Nanshe was nimble, quickly shaping the sand to her will. She had some issues with it, though — she clicked and huffed often when the sand escaped through her fingers. She was obviously used to material that tended to listen. Come to think of it, Petra thought with a private chuckle, Nanshe was used to obedience in other ways, too.

“You’ll come to the Grand Lake with me,” Nanshe said.

“What, now?” Petra asked, looking around, but the desert was empty. She wasn’t sure why she was convinced she’d see the shores of the Lake surrounding them just then; it seemed silly.

“What? Petra, not right now. I didn’t mean just to see the Lake, you know?” Nanshe clarified, frowning. It had taken Petra a while to realize that she was frowning because of the amount of sunlight she was exposed to, not because of her. Nanshe was (by her own claim), a deep-sea fish. Whatever the hell that meant.

“We already agreed I’d come, didn’t we?” Petra asked. “I don’t mean to back out on a promise.”

Beneath their hands, Nanshe’s side of the castle was doing a lot better than Petra’s, but Petra didn’t mind. She enjoyed spending time with the girl, no matter how foreign she seemed sometimes.

“I know,” Nanshe said with a laugh. “I’m just finding things for you to do! I think you’ll like building sandcastles out of real materials.”

“Real materials,” Petra echoed mockingly once again. “Here! A stone is a real material!”

She tossed a small rock she found nearby at Nanshe. The Nimare caught it without preamble, then lifted it to her eye level.

“It’ll do,” she said, unimpressed. “You’ll see the shells, though. They’re so colourful!” And then, after a small pause, she leaned in like she was telling Petra a secret. “But I like it here, too. Not to stay, this isn’t for me. But I could visit, if you’d host me. This sandpit of yours is quite fun.”

“Of course,” Petra nodded, grateful. “Don’t wait for me to invite you.”

Nanshe didn’t say anything — she just kept dictating instructions, and Petra followed. And yet, she could easily tell they reached an understanding.