The scruffy tortoise called out a short plea of distress.
A heron heard it's moan. But it was busy hunting.
Inside the tortoise's crusty shell was a small, sinewy heart.
It was the only thing in the shell. It hung
from the roof of the bony cavity and pulsed gently.
It was lonely. The tortoise wandered through volcanic shards and
withered plant's remains. He yearned for the sweet burst of
a native tomato. How he would dance it through his
rotating mandibles, make love to it with his reptilian tongue,
and close his sleepy eyes in pleasure. There were none.