Listen well kips and you might stay viscous. If ever you find yourself in the flats with nothing to quench your thirst but dust, remember this stolid chant: Scablands ain't so dry as they look. Divine the Juicebox. First, search for the distant glint, the shimmer of the scales they use to shade and shed heat. Follow the flicker and pray it's no heat-curdled mirage. You'll know you're near when you see bundles of straws, them long noses they use to tap for water. They have a tendency to snap off on the regular and stake the sand. If you can't dig down you better be fleet fingered. Reckon you can wring one dry yourself if you can catch hold afore they burrow. Ever see how sodden they get come mating time? Mite unsettling how they start tapping each other for water, but a strong thirst will quickly put you of similar mind. Just snap off that straw, insert and squeeze. No worse than a warm mug at the bench if you ask me.