The Six Year Snail War exhausted both sides in the end. The homestead co-owned by Mogey and Smush had seen multiple outhouse burnings, a thick layer of slime on virtually every surface, and unprecedented damage to the tomatoes. The other belligerent, a barcalounger-sized snail named Curd Gherkin, endured a battle-scarred shell and now wore an eyepatch at all times.
And so it came to pass that Mogey, Smush, and Curd Gherkin stood on the northwest corner of the homestead, prepared to call a truce. Serving as a neutral arbiter was Bjoink Version 5, a homemade robot who often mediated local disputes (though "made" by whom and in what "home," no one knew).
"I think that eyepatch is just an affectation," Mogey whispered to Smush. "We never did anything to his eye."
Smush nodded but didn't take his eyes off Curd Gherkin. "What'll it be, then?" he asked the snail.
"A pact?" Gherkin replied heavily.
"Terms?" Smush inquired.
"Party One - Moogey and Smoosh," Bjoink Version 5 intoned mechanically, "agree to stay to the east of this point forevermore. Party Two - Cred Greckling - agrees to stay to the west. All parties agree to cease any of the following: Sliming, consuming each others' tomatoes, slingshotting hard candies at one another, eye-poking."
"We never poked his eye!" Mogey insisted.
"Those terms are acceptable," Smush said.
"Same here," Curd Gherkin agreed. "Let us seal the pact by locking eyes. It's a snail tradition." He leaned one of his long eyestalks toward Smush.
"Erm," Smush hesitated.
"Your arm will do," Gherkin said. He wrapped his eyestalk tightly around Smush's proffered arm, drawing him close. "Silly lad," the snail whispered. "I've only just begun to teach you the meaning of pain. There's no such thing as 'locking eyes.' The truce is off!"
With that, Curd Gherkin spun, slapping Smush in the chest with his rubbery tail.
"Ugh!" Mogey shrieked. "He slimed you!"
"Ha. Ha. Ha," said Bjoink Version 5. "A classic Cred Greckling double cross."
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