A chill pervaded the hole that the tortoise spent the night in. It had been designed to keep cool during the afternoon, not warm at night. Still, it was insulated and was better than being outside. The wind never subsided, weakened perhaps, but still ever-present.

Today the weather was clear with random yet powerful gusts. There was a constant breeze that was sure to make the afternoon more bearable. On the distant horizon, dark clouds plagued an otherwise nice day. The tortoise climbed up, happy that the weather was a bit nicer than yesterday.

Unfortunately, it found out that its other homes were buried. Thick red soil filled in these holes and smoothed out the land as if they never existed. A fitting grave for its bad neighbor if the scorpion never managed to leave. And it stemmed the tide of flies temporarily.

The tortoise crawled about, occasionally swaying in the wind. Not as strong as before but more sudden and brief. It kept catching the tortoise off-guard, making it fall as it leaned too far to right. In a way, this was worse than before. Flies would pop out of the soil here and there too, bothering the tortoise until they were blasted away.

The path to the oasis felt different. More sparse and empty. No longer was it vibrant and lively. The remaining plants were the hardiest and weren't so pretty. While the lake itself was blood red and couldn't be any good. The tortoise had no intention of drinking it, it just came out of habit and perhaps to snack on the odd leaf on the way.

Unfortunately, most of these leaves were dry and tasteless. The only thing that was completely green were the cacti, used to worse conditions than this. To suppress both its thirst and hunger, the tortoise dedicated some time to pull some spines off one of these cacti for breakfast.

Arriving at the side of the lake later than usual, it bore witness to pure chaos. The shores of the lake were lined with a particular creature. Toads, dozens of them. Most stayed near the water, half submerged despite being land faring creatures at this stage of their life. Or perhaps not as some were undeveloped, missing a limb, bearing a tail, a blackish tint, etc.

The others hopped around the oasis, flowing and ebbing like a tide. Their food source was a constant stream of flies being unearthed with the wind. Seeing these creatures feast upon those pests and the lack of danger felt gave the tortoise a good impression of toads. When the tortoise came closer, they reacted in various ways.

A decent portion of the shore toads pushed off into the water for a meter and went to another shore. Same with the scattered oasis toads, most kept their distance.

On the other hand, there were toads that simply didn't care. Whether this was an instinct that things were safe or just plain stupidity was not known. One of the toads it passed by even climbed onto its shell, hitchhiking on a whim. Considering it was just a bit smaller than the tortoise, this placed a considerable weight upon its back.

The tortoise had the choice of either leaving to go back to its burrow for the afternoon or just hanging out. With the toad on it, it felt less inclined to move. So, it stuck around, observing its surroundings. The ants it feared so much were eaten on sight by the toads. Even the local grasshopper population was at risk from these eco-destroyers.

There was only one issue and that was the toads who hadn't gotten out of the water. They rose to the top of the water and floated there aimlessly, tadpoles and half developed toad alike. Their corpses contaminated the already undrinkable and unliveable iron water. Nothing good could come of this.

A few vultures, doing their job as the cleaners of nature, would skim the water and pick up a free meal to eat. Then again, they didn't discriminate between the living ones at the shorelines and the floaters. If they focused on the dead ones, perhaps the situation wouldn't have deteriorated so much.

One of the toads taken was the hitchhiker. These toads relied on being the same color as the ground to escape aerial foes. The ground was a light brown color from being dry while the tortoise's shell was a dark brown. Being on the shell turned the toad into a sitting target. The toad didn't even put in much of a fight.

The toad sat completely still as if it hoped its camouflage was still working or that one of its brethren would be chosen. No such luck. While it was picked up without much effort, it fought and squirmed in the vulture's grip. It was not to be as the vulture landed in the tree after circling back and enjoyed its lunch.

The sun at this time was at its midpoint, the brunt of its heat coming at this time. Proximity to the lake and the breeze kept temperatures down a bit. Despite losing what was weighing it down, the tortoise stayed still. Going back to its burrow felt counterproductive as the afternoon would've passed by the time it got back.

As time passed, the vultures flew off, satisfied and wanting to sleep their meal off. A few more toads died, succumbing to the poisoned water or not fully formed lungs. The toads accepted it as safe, or enough time passed for them to forget and think of it as part of the scenery. A few left, heading off into the distance to find their own place in the world.

The tortoise did not have the courage to go off into the unknown as long as the oasis stood. Even with the water poisoned and the land covered in toads, it was still better than anywhere else it knew of. Not that it knew of anywhere else. This area just struck it as safe and held a sense of belonging. Such a feeling will not last. It will be dislodged in a forced exodus.