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A sadness had befallen the realm. It was as if the darkness that follows day would never again lift and those that had been spared would face sufferings beyond imagination.

It had come down to one. One stalwart soul who had shouted from the ramparts “Not I! Not this day!” If he should fall, then all that remained of civilization and goodness would fall with him. For unlike the calms and gales, those fleeting things that come and go as they please, this would have a permanence that the ferryman collecting his coins would know. The morrow would bring no change. His kind will have been swept clean from the kingdom.

He was the last. His brothers and sisters, once numbered beyond counting, had fallen. When but a few remained and the end was clear, they said their goodbyes and hurled themselves into the maelstrom. But this one, this last brave one, determined that if it must be the end, then it would be an end for the ages.

This last Tongue Tingler, this one who would not go quietly into the night, thrust out his fist and dared his enemies to advance. It would be his last, best fight.

I was thinking all this as I went on deck to check on the course for the night when heard a clatter down below. Sir Salty Gobbles-A-Lot had beaten me to it. Somehow the flippered little rascal had gobbled the last Tongue Tingler leaving me only the sugary packaging. Looking over at him, I could see he was pretending to be asleep but the sugar on his whiskers gave him away.

Next time, I’ll be more careful when the count is down to one.

Follow my tracks in real-time: