The young stegosaurus who lives to eat, regardless that he's got it scientifically backwards. Aside from his mania for food, Mooky has little else to occupy his lazy days in the cove jungle. This guileless steg trusts his instincts to keep him alive--he has to--but he also trusts Krim, who continually leads the pair into one ridiculous ( and usually disastrous ) misadventure after another. So much for instinct.

Still, companionship doesn't always follow logic. Maybe that's why Mooky is always more than happy to tag along with Krim wherever he's headed, especially if it might involve learning incentives such as fruit, nuts or berries.

Our "tweenage" trogpole hero who, at twelve and counting, is in a mammoth hurry to grab the world by its primitive tail and start swingin'. He's centuries ahead of his time, constantly thinking for himself, by himself, but mostly and only...about himself.

His prehistoric daydreams are loaded with his yet-to-be-realized superstardom out on the coil and always dripping with sheela adoration. And when it comes to grabbing out for that elusive bamboo ring, Krim truly believes there is no shortcut too short nor any pitfall too deep. Hard work and tribal unity may be essential elements for the clan's survival, but Krim is sure there's got to be a better way then the Trogway, and he's determined to find it.

For as long as Krim can remember, Kanna-Lily has always been a year older and an inch-and-a-half taller than him. The tropical flower that adorns her hair suggests delicate beauty and a quiet femininity. But Krim knows all too well that this sheelahini is no fragile orchid.

Although Kanna-Lily is definitely a formidable match for Krim in many ways, she is competing only for his attention and adoration. Her ceaseless pursuit is driven more by a duty to destiny than by love : the ancient ones foretold that this unlikely union was written in the stars. And so it must be, at least as far as Kanna-Lily is concerned.

Being the kid sister of Rongo, the clan's top coiler, could explain some of her teeming self-confidence. Yet she has proven time and again the ability to outstride all others in her age group--male or female--in any contest, any time.

There are times when Tanga wishes she could be anyone other than Cretaysha's only daughter. Her mother continues to leave deep footprints in the sand and, though she has no delusions about trying to fill them, Tanga feels buried by the expectations. Within her mind, these expectations circle overhead like giant scavenger birds anxiously awaiting failure, watching for any wrong step they can swoop down upon.

So, in defense, she plays it safe. Never over-reaching, always quiet and capable, Tanga refuses to let herself take chances. Every action--every word--is carefully measured against its potential failure. Hesitant is no way to live in a land of survivors. Yet, considering the dangers that lurk within the cove waters, it is likely that her cautious approach has become an asset. Out there, a simple mistake can easily turn into a fatal one.

Nearly sixteen, she's the youngest of the sheelas spearing gill in the coral corral. The work is deceivingly hard. So much so that after the first few days she worried about not keeping up--that she couldn't cut it. But each long day strengthens her body as it builds her confidence, and she finds satisfaction in knowing that the others in the water accept her as just Tanga, not as Cretaysha's daughter.

Overall, the Trog clan consider Ding a deep thinker. It's a shame that the majority of his thoughts are so deep they suffer from a lack of oxygen. He's always right on the edge of some brilliant new discovery, unaware that once again he's overlooked the most essential part. Common sense is a slippery factor for his "great" mind.

Ding's out there--way out there. He's been talking to himself for so long that no one else understands half of what he's saying. But they do believe that he believes it, whatever it is. As chief, Jurak feels obliged to understand, though typically the only thing he gets out of a conversation with Ding is a volcano-strength headache.

One member of the tribe who is continually tilting his head, trying to see the world from Ding's distorted perspective, is Krim. Who else could be so drawn to such a "beat" philosophy that promotes the mind's endless possibilities? It's tailor-made for Krim's overactive imagination, and Ding's theories can't really be to blame every time the scheming trogpole slants them to suit his own purposes.

The Trog clan's chief was waist high when Kontraka's great eruption drove the last of his people out of the inland valley. Now he is the oldest and only living survivor from those pre-cove days. The walls inside the sea cliffs are decorated with his cave paintings that continue to depict and chronicle the Trog saga.

Prehistoric life has confronted Jurak with countless challenges, yet none as trying as Krim, the sole offspring of his deceased daughter. The trogway is more than just tribal law to Jurak; it is his heritage, a testament to the life and death struggle he has known and witnessed in his time under the sun. He foresees a potential greatness in Krim that remains hidden from most of the clan, though he wonders if there will ever be an earthshaking event powerful enough to bridge the cavernous gap between what Krim is and what Krim could be.

Ooshie is no more concerned with tomorrow than she is with yesterday. She just lives. That statement may sound dull and uneventful--Ooshie is anything but. Her enthusiasm, even for the simplest things, stirs color into a daily existence that often seems black and white in its routine.

Without pretense and free from hang-ups, this bouncy sheela lets it fly, for better or for worse. It's a trait not always appreciated, but the others realize that Ooshie is for real in whatever she does or says.

It's easy to get caught up in her vivacious energy, though not so easy to keep up with it. When she was small, the cove jungle buzzed louder. Then, as a poolie, she kept the tide pools jumpin'. Jurak had thought things would quiet down once Ooshie went to work in the coral corral, but the steady stream of bubbles rising to the surface everyday shows that she hasn't slowed down a bit.

Unlike Loala, his younger sister, Allo is in tune with only one living thing--himself. No one seems to mind, though. In fact, they're almost as impressed with his innovative coil-riding as he is. Well…almost.

Whereas being on a fin comes naturally to Rongo, Allo has always had to work at it. Now he can't help but overwork it. To his credit, Allo's ever-ready sense of humor prevents him from taking anything too seriously, including himself. He's quick to laugh anytime he "eats reef" in front of the crew, and the other coilers aren't above giving him a good shove from time to time just to cool off his molten antics and jungle-gyro jive.

Ahh…but no one laughs harder or with more satisfaction than Krim. From his viewpoint, stuck in the tidepools, Krim idolizes Allo in a disdainful sort of way. He can't wait to be out on the coil where everyone can dig him the most. In the meantime, his bone-headed attempts to outdo Allo from onshore only land him in the fire pit, instead of where he longs to be-- in the spotlight.

Being low man on the tidepoolie totem pole doesn't bother Naka a bit. "Less to worry about" is how he figures it. As long as Ronky's around, there are no decisions to make nor orders to follow, only work to be done. Easy enough, because it's work he enjoys.

Naka couldn't wait to become a "poolie". It's a welcome escape from growing up constantly surrounded by his four sisters. Of course, Ooshie is still close by in the coral corral, but he can handle being around them one at a time.

In general, he's good-natured, sometimes prone to giggling fits, and retains information like a sea sponge holds water. "Naka know" has become a popular catchphrase around the cove. A touch envious, Krim likes to kid the chunky trogpole, insisting that all his brains are in his "waste" line and that every time he unloads in the jungle he comes back a little dumber.

Tratu has ridden more coil and herded more gill than anyone in the clan could begin to count. And it shows. His body is a tapestry of scars; each one telling its own story, mapping out a lifetime of survival. This disfigured hide doesn't bother him though, and it is only when someone asks about where a certain scar came from that he is reminded they exist at all.

What Tratu's rugged skin does not show--nor is he willing to discuss--are the inner wounds that are so torturously slow to heal. By far, the most difficult being the loss of Voniqua, his cavemate. If not for the torchlight of his daughter's love, he never would've emerged from the "dark hollows", as she named them. Devonia longs to know all she can about her mother. Her childhood memories are few but fond, yet she has learned it is wise not to visit them with her father very often.

Unlike the dense reef that protects the cove waters, Tratu's inner barriers have not held the demons of the deep at bay. Instead, they've become trapped within, consuming him from the inside out and clouding his mind with visions of lost yesterdays. LIfe on the coil is punishing. Sometimes, it's deadly. Tratu knows he's stayed too long. But out there he finds a twisted sort of peace, a place where the dead dance closely with the living. And on the good days, he finds there is no distinction between the two.

If there was such a thing as an eagle scout back in prehistoric times, Ronky would certainly be one. He is conscientious and serious-minded, always following the rules laid down by Jurak and his elders. In turn, being a year older than Krim and Naka, the other tidepoolie, he considers himself in charge out on the rocks. Krim sees it differently, of course.

Kanna-Lily only works at the tide pools part of the time, leaving Krim without any semblance of an ally when she's away. Ronky can usually count on his pal, Naka, to go along with whatever he says, which makes Krim the odd man out. And when Kanna-Lily is present, it only complicates the situation for Krim. He's learned how to get around the other two trogpoles, but not her.

Ronky enjoys watching Krim squirm, but he also knows that it's only temporary, and soon he'll have to suffer through another tiresome day of monkey business on the rocks.

To Krim, Devonia is everything Kanna-Lily is not. Including unattainable. Her heart has been given to Rongo, and one day soon they will become cavemates. This, of course, is but a minor hurdle in Krim's magnificent daydreams. Out of the blue you'll find him muttering to himself as he sizes up other obstacles such as their age difference : "What's six years when measuring epochs?" Or the height discrepancy : "I'm almost up to her shoulders." And then there's her obvious lack of interest : "Don't worry, she'll come around once she sees me out there coilin' circles around loverpuss."

One can hardly fault Krim for his captivation. Day after day he watches Devonia work as ramrod in the coral corral, leading the other sheelas by example yet always with a disarming sense of fun. And though her popularity at the fireside is unparalleled, the clan usually has to coax the unassuming sheela into sharing the beloved stories and handsongs that she learned from her mother back in those "faraway" days.

Devonia carries a underlying sadness that she masks well from everyone except Permiana, her lifelong friend. She treasures time spent alone in the cove's coral gardens, where her spirit is enveloped by the silent splendor of undersea beauty. But Tratu, her father, and Permiana both worry that Devonia's sentimental nature too often puts her at risk in the danger-filled times that they must endure.

As the story goes, Rongo could swim from the day he was born. Whether the tale is true or not, the clan all agree that this trog is a natural in the water, riding the coil with a graceful strength that has lifted gillherding to an aquatic artform. It's as if he's communicating with the sea beneath his fossilized fin; he's always in the right place at the right time, making each coil with ease. Every time.

Rongo's father is the clan's head woodsmith responsible for creating all the hand-hewn watercraft and carved tikis. Both of his parents, Maku and Ovonda, still abide by the ancient trog traditions of their inland ancestors. They, as do some of the other old ones, still fear the sea's powerful moods, its unknown vastness, and feel that the gods of the deep are too fickle and cruel to be trusted with such blind faith.

Rongo respectfully disagrees. The bountiful harvest that he helps to bring in each day keeps his mind and heart open to the wondrous possibilities that lie beyond the outer reefs. He and Devonia have always shared their love and fascination for the sea. To them it is the way of the future. And they are, indeed, the future.

Cretaysha is a sheeladoa, which, in Trog lingo, means she's a mother. Her eldest child, Tanga, works in the coral corral flipping gill with Devonia and the other young sheelas. To Cretaysha, it doesn't seem that long ago that she was showing all of them how to properly track and spear the choicest gill. And more importantly, how to read the behavioral patterns surrounding them, learning to sense danger long before seeing it. She misses the daily exhilaration of working the cove waters, but her challenges now lie elsewhere.

Cretaysha's prowess with a spear is still held in high regard amongst the clan. No one, before or since, has been able to pin and flip two gill in one stroke--a difficult feat she pulled off regularly in her days as ramrod of the corral.

Such accomplishments no longer interest her. Aside from teaching the small ones about life in the cove, her energies are focused on healing; on discovering how nature, through the use of plant and animal extracts, can help her tribe to live just easily as it can cause them to die.

Permiana is pure huntress. The words "long" and "lethal" accurately describe her, for she is very much like the stone blade she wears on her hip.This well-honed weapon and the hide belt it hangs in once belonged to her father. It has become a symbol to her--a daily reminder of the invaluable lessons about survival and self-reliance he taught her when she was very young. She carries it with pride, always.

Inside, Permiana carries the terrifying memory of his savage death. She still believes-- as she did then at the idealistic age of eleven--that she could've rescued him had Tratu not stopped her. But Tratu did all he could to fight off the whip-necked elasmosaurus, to shield his wounded friend from the relentless attacks that nearly killed him, as well.

In many ways, she has grown into the sheela her father hoped she would become. But he would not have wished for her heart to be poisoned with vengeance, nor have allowed her to emotionally isolate herself from the others. With the exception of her own sharp instincts, she trusts only Devonia, no one else. And like a blood sister, Devonia defends her wildness and unpredictability when the clan has had enough.

For Permiana, each day begins with the same fear and anticipation as it has since her father's death: "Will this day bring the demon of the deep back to the cove? And if so, will I have a strong arm to cut off its head…or a brave heart to die with no tears?"

Like most trogs, Konk has a thick brow to shield his eyes from the glaring sun. The problem is that one can never tell whether he's awake or just walking in his sleep. And chances are, if he's not eating or riding a coil, you'll find him with his arms folded across his chest catching a few Z's. Allo swears that more than once he's caught him dozing off in the middle of a coil ride.

He's not very talkative, either. A conversation with Konk--a rare occurrence in itself--normally consists of a few carefully selected grunts and groans. Oftentimes, he'll simply rely on a hand gesture or two, which at least indicates that he's listening to what's being said.

If Konk does have something to say, he'd much rather do it than waste time talking about it. When he's on his feet, this monolithic figure makes a lot of shade for being only one trog. And with the strength of a triceratops, not much stays in his way if he doesn't want it there. It is fortunate for the rest of the clan that Konk has a laid-back approach to life in the cove. Anyone'll tell you--he's as lazy as a palm tree on a windless afternoon.

As Ding explains it, "That fish got one zingy vibe harmonizin' with every livin' thing." Call it what you like, but this rare gift has helped to greatly improve the feudal relationship that once existed between her clan and the rockdogs. There is a positive flow that the animals sense and respond to, and she definitely has it. Although at times, this gift can be a curse for Loala, especially in trying to understand and accept how brutal the food chain can be in her primeval surroundings.

Fortunately, Loala is too busy "doing" rather than thinking. In truth, she's not much of a thinker at all. Happiest while on the coil, herding gill with her ever-faithful rockdogs, she spends most of her out-of- water time collecting shells for stringing trinkets.

Her parents, along with others in the Trog clan, are concerned that Loala may be spending too much time with her rockdog pals. Barking at things that fly and cracking open shellfish with her teeth are unsheela-like habits they'd hoped she would've outgrown by now.