1. Prologue

Cona had never expected to get kids, for two reasons. First; she was a tiny animal, a mix between a fish and a worm, and was easily eaten by a bigger foe.

Second; her breath smelled so badly that even seaweed died when she came close. She didn’t know why. No other Connido had any trouble, but her long teeth had held an odd taste ever since birth.

Well, no male Connido wanted to be close to that. Nobody wanted to get close. The animals who could already talk called her smelik and venik. She didn’t understand the words, but she had quickly realized they weren’t positive terms.

Or so she thought.

As she fled a fish much larger then her, she swam deeper and deeper into the sea. To the bottom that lacked sunlight—except one growing dot of light. She was confused. Was she going the wrong way? Was a luminescent creature coming at her?

Slowing down was impossible. She hadn’t seen the beast that chased her, but it bit around itself ferociously and created streams of air bubbles complicating her escape. So she raced to the dot of light, hoping it was her salvation.

Salvation, however, usually didn’t come in the shape of a smooth, perfect, rectangular piece of wood that shone faintly.

She bumped into it. The object tipped up and she crept underneath it. Maybe her pursuer would give up or be unable to find her. It was a faint hope. Most creatures were fine with eating the entire environment just to get that tasty fish.

Of course, dear reader, it wasn’t a piece of wood. It was a book. But these animals barely knew language, let alone what a book was. Cona’s eyes weren’t even good enough to read it. She saw the world in shades of grey, light and dark, no more. Fortunately, though, this wasn’t just any book …

Cona’s hiding place moved. Her pursuer tried to lift it. She pressed her long body closer to the wood, trying to stick to it.

The book fell open as if spreading its wings, then floated upward. It flipped its own pages, again and again, until stopping at one of the later pages. Then it fell back down, as if placing a roof over Cona’s head.

She looked up. The pages held symbols and drawings—drawings of a Connido. One that looked juts like her, even though she didn’t know, for these animals were too primitive to recognize themselves. And the prehistoric ocean had a distinct lack of mirrors, unless Bella lost one. Cona recognized it as a Connido.

One who attacked a much larger beast. Without fear, teeth forward, a bit out of its tough tail.

How stupid! That one must have died! Their weak bite did nothing against such an enemy.

The book seemed to understand she could not read. The longer she studied the page, the more she imagined hearing a noise coming from it.

“Venik … venik … venik …”

Were pieces of wood also bullying here now? She—

Something ripped the book away from her.

She stood before a precursor of crocodiles—a Proto-crocodile. He leapt forward. With the tip of her body, Cona flipped the book upward like a shield.

The green-scaled monster thought he could easily bite through it. But the book didn’t break. As the crocodile pushed his sharp teeth deep into the pages, not even the tip of a page was ripped off.

Cona hesitated. The creature was stuck. With each heartbeat that the book remained stuck in his jaws, his eyes widened and panic struck further. His tail lowered towards the seabed, surrounded by whirlpools of bubbles.

She had a chance. Could it be true? Could her Connido teeth contain something magical?

Would she be able to protect herself forever?

She swam to his hind leg, closed her eyes, spread her jaws—and bit into it with all she had.

The crocodile mostly reacted with irritation. His tail pushed Cona away, but his attention was fully on that unbreakable book.

Cona swam away and noticed the tail stopped moving. As she looked from a distance, his paws stopped moving. Once safe amidst seaweed, the crocodile completely stopped moving.

The creature sunk to the seabed, eyes open, like a statue. The book fell from his teeth, undamaged and just as bright, onto the stone from whence it came.

A trail of yellow-green water flowed out of Cona’s mouth and quickly dissolved in the water.

For the first time in her life, another Connido came to her.

“You winnik against Crocodile! Big Croco! You!”

“Erm, yes, yes, that I do.”

The male Connido did not notice her terrible breath. No, she realized, it was gone. Just for a short bit, then it came back. But this male was already convinced: he wanted Cona to bear his children.

In this time far before the dinosaurs, dear reader, nothing more was needed. Love didn’t even exist yet. He saw a strong female who could beat much larger animals. That had to mean strong children who could also protect themselves well.

It didn’t take long before Cona’s children swam around her. They also had the Venomous Bite.

Their mother proudly watched as they could already defeat bigger enemies at a young age. No crocodile had visited ever again, which she found unfortunate, but secretly liked. Even seeing seaweed in the shape of a crocodile was enough to frighten her.

They visited the Book daily. They didn’t know what it was, or how it worked, but felt that it was important and saved their lives. It was impossible to move, so they hid it in a circle of seaweed and stones.

They regularly visited this sacred place, watching in awe as Cona pointed at that one page repeatedly. They couldn’t tell stories yet—they could barely speak to each other—so it all happened with taps and short words.

“Nice food? Bite, wait, eat!”

Her children yelled after her.

“Crocodile? Turn off its teeth. Then bite, wait, eat!”

Her children copied her, including the scary voice at the word crocodile.

She bore more and more children, all of whom lived a long life. She claimed it was because of her great upbringing and many warnings. Almost all of them had the Venomous Bite—which made the Connido without it the weird ones now.

She regularly swam with her non-venomous children to tell them they were in much bigger danger. That they should flee from every danger—or be eaten.

And so it was that she swam close to the beach, in shallow waters, to give this speech to another child. She grew tired of it—what were her children thinking? How often did she have to say it before they would listen?

“Don’t swimmik alone. No dark places. No biting. If think crocodile head, swimmik away and—”

“Crocodile head!”

“Yes, good, yellik, but also—”

Something grabbed her from above and fished her out of water. She was just a tiny fish. Her teeth were smaller than a hair and would not hurt any bigger land dwelling animal.

The disadvantage of poison was that it worked after the event: the crocodile who attacked her would die, yes, but only in an hour or a day.

She stood no chance.