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Dawn, too, saw the animal’s strange behavior. Was it sick? Was there a predator nearby? “Everyone, stay back,” she warned.
But Bismark, unaware of the armadillo’s distress, jovially leaped toward it, determined to make a big entrance.
“Ahoy there, Señor Scale-Tail!” he shouted. “Come meet our scaly compañero.” He nodded over his shoulder to Tobin then looked back and forth between the pangolin and the armadillo, noting their similar, oblong shapes, short limbs, and taloned paws. “Hey, you two have a lot in common! Can you release a terrible stink from your rear end, too?” Warily, Bismark eyed the armadillo’s backside. He plugged his nose before continuing to move closer.
“Oy!” The armadillo suddenly let out a shout. “Hold it right there, little feller—don’t take another step! That there ground is a quagmire!” He pointed urgently toward a patch of sand just beyond Bismark’s feet.
Bismark didn’t know what a quagmire was, but he wasn’t about to admit it… or seem afraid of it. So, with a confident grin, the sugar glider took a giant step forward.
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The armadillo yelped and frantically waved his arms.
But Bismark dismissed him with a wave of his flap. “Don’t be such a worrywart!” he cried. “This quigglemoo is no match for—” Suddenly, Bismark felt something under his paws. He looked down.
“AHHH!” The glider’s already-bulbous eyes bulged even more. The earth was moving! The sand that was flat and still just moments ago was now churning around Bismark’s feet…and sucking him under!
As the ground spiraled and swirled, the armadillo clutched his tree even tighter. “Get outer there!” he yelled. “Before yer a goner!”
Bismark urgently pumped his flaps, trying to lift himself out of the strange substance. But the more he moved, the more it pulled him in. “Sacre bleu!” he cried. “I can’t move!”
Dawn’s eyes widened. “It’s quicksand!” she cried. “Bismark—stay still! It will get worse if you try to fight it!”
But the panicked sugar glider kept flapping and flailing. And sure enough, the more he did, the more the strange sand spun and sucked at his feet.
“Oh no!” Cora gulped. “He’s sinking!”
“Hurry!” said Dawn, beckoning Tobin. “We ________
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have to help him!” They bolted to the edge of the quicksand pit where Bismark continued to wriggle and writhe.
Dawn leaned over the swirling earth and stretched out a paw. “Grab on, Bismark!” she yelled. “Tobin, hold me tight.”
Tobin quickly dug his back claws into the dirt, pressing them into the earth to make sure they wouldn’t move. Then he grabbed onto Dawn’s tail. “I’ve got you,” he told her.
With Tobin’s grip keeping her safe, Dawn reached farther out over the dangerous quicksand. But Bismark still couldn’t grasp her paw.
“I’m a…glug…goner!” he shouted. The sand whirled around him like a tornado, drowning his voice and pulling him lower and lower. Bismark was now covered up to his chest.
“Tobin, we need to get closer!” yelled Dawn.
The pangolin looked down at his claws buried deep in the ground. He needed to yank them forward to get them out and move toward Bismark. But he needed to keep leaning backward if he was going to keep Dawn from falling into the quicksand. The pangolin took a deep breath. Then, very carefully, he wriggled his hind legs until they were free from the earth. “Oof!” Tobin ________
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allowed himself to fall on his rear so he could keep a firm hold on Dawn. Then, scooting on his scaled backside, Tobin inched his way closer to the strange, swirling sand.
“Hurry!” yelled Dawn.
Bismark kept sinking down into the goop. Now, only his eyes peeked over it as it twisted and twirled in thousands of flecks all around him.
“Almost ready!” huffed Tobin. “Just let me dig my claws back in….”
“I’m choking!” Bismark used all his strength to reach out to Dawn. With a mighty jerk, he grabbed onto her. But Tobin had not yet dug his feet into their new position—and the pangolin and the fox went tumbling forward into the quicksand with Bismark!
“Tobin!” cried Cora.
“Oy!” The armadillo buried his face in the tree bark—he could not bear to watch.
“Helllllp!” Bismark sputtered, managing to lift his head for a moment. But as quickly as it had surfaced over the sand, it sunk back beneath it.
“What do we do?” yelped Tobin. He struggled to rise above the swirling earth, but he couldn’t move. He tried to curl his body into a ball—the position he took whenever he was frightened—but even that was impossible. He was totally stuck.
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“Try to…try to….” Dawn’s mind raced, but nothing she thought of—floating, swimming, steering, jumping—seemed possible. All around her, the earth churned and roiled in a violent sea of sand. It was as though millions of tiny fingers were grabbing hold of her fur and pulling her lower and lower.
The fox looked around frantically, struggling to peer through the spinning sand. She could no longer see Bismark. And all she could see of Tobin was the tip of his long, narrow snout. Helpless, she closed her eyes, shielding them from the sand whipping against her face. In moments, she would be fully buried beneath it.
But, all of a sudden, the sand stopped stinging her cheeks. The fox slowly opened her eyes. The quicksand’s thrashing tornado had slowed into gentle waves. It was no longer trapping her. Dawn wriggled her paws—she could move! For a moment, she seemed to float, suspended in the strange sand. And then— ________
Thud.
Her body hit something hard. She was on the ground…and Bismark and Tobin were sprawled out beside her.
Tobin rubbed his sore scales. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. “I can stand!” he exclaimed.
Bismark, too, managed to stand. “Mon dieu! I…I ________
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did it!” he gasped. The sugar glider spat out a mouthful of sand. “I won! I defeated the dirt! I out-quicked the quicksand!”
“But…where did it go?” Tobin asked. He spun in a circle, searching for the swirling sand.
“It dissolved! Disappeared! Vanished!” Bismark exclaimed, poking the earth with his stick.
“No, it didn’t,” said Dawn. She pointed a paw overhead. “Look!”
The quicksand had lifted…and now drifted in the air. For a few moments, the flecks flurried in circles. Then they fluttered away with the breeze.
The trio stared at the flying quicksand in silence.
“Oy!” The armadillo finally opened his eyes and let go of his tree. “Are you three erright?” he asked. He trundled toward the Brigade. “I tried to warn yer—that there’s a quagmire!”
The animal lowered his snout toward the ground to inspect it. “Or at least it was. I tell yer—that there slip-sand stuff keeps hap-nin’ everywhere an armadillo turns… movin’ this way and that. Comin’ and goin’.” He shuddered then pivoted back toward his tree.