A loud, terrible shriek tore through the trees. "BAAAA!" Haggis the Goat enunciated, which means something along the lines of "We have no time for detailed battle strategy and planning, so I highly suggest we RUN!!!!" So the heroes ran away into the thick cover of the trees. They all crouched down on the ground, peering cautiously from behind a tree.
Hippie Guitar Man shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and stood, planting his feet firmly on the ground. There was resolve and determination in his eyes. The kind you might see in a man about to face his fears. The kind you might see in a man climbing a mountain that everyone said was impossible to summit. He's just feet away. He just has to place one foot after the other, and he will have achieved his goal. The kind of determination you might see in a 4 year old trying to pour his own cereal. He gritted his eyes. Or his teeth, I mean. "This is mine. Stay here, man." He said.
The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache grabbed him. "No. We can't let you do this alone. You don't know what it's capable of. We can help you."
"Nah, man," Hippie Guitar Man replied. "I got this. I may not be the brightest cookie in the tool shed, but I do know this: A man has to face his own battles. You mess with the orange juice, you get the pulp. And this haggis has been sticking his nostrils in the wrong orange juice."
Hippie Guitar Man brushed The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache's hand off his shoulder. He walked a few steps, and another shriek rang through the thickly wooded forest. He turned around. "If I don't come back in one day..." "Hamburgers." The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache finished. "What? What was that?" Hippie Guitar Man asked, perplexed. "I... I was trying to finish your sentence to show the readers that we've grown as characters and bonded, or something." "..." Hippie Guitar Man responded, backing away. "I don't know what you're talking about, man. BUT I'M GOING TO FIGHT THE HAGGIS!!!" He ran toward the cries of the demented creature. "Baaaaa!' Haggis called after him, encouragingly.
Hippie Guitar Man was alone now, running through the thick mass of bramble and trees. It was dark and foreboding. Just as a mountain climber could misplace his foot, and just as a 4 year old could cause a terrible cereal accident, this too could be a mistake. The twigs snapped under his feet.
After a while, he slowed. Silence. Strange, tense silence. He no longer heard the haggis's cries, but he knew he must be close. He could smell it. After another few minutes of walking, he stepped into a clearing. But not a natural clearing... Someone, or, dreading the thought, someTHING had knocked over the trees and tore them from the ground. He saw a footprint. Not a human footprint, but the footprint... of a toad. But right next to it was a much larger footprint... That of the haggis.
Hippie Guitar Man shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and stood, planting his feet firmly on the ground. There was resolve and determination in his eyes. The kind you might see in a man about to face his fears. The kind you might see in a man climbing a mountain that everyone said was impossible to summit. He's just feet away. He just has to place one foot after the other, and he will have achieved his goal. The kind of determination you might see in a 4 year old trying to pour his own cereal. He gritted his eyes. Or his teeth, I mean. "This is mine. Stay here, man." He said.
The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache grabbed him. "No. We can't let you do this alone. You don't know what it's capable of. We can help you."
"Nah, man," Hippie Guitar Man replied. "I got this. I may not be the brightest cookie in the tool shed, but I do know this: A man has to face his own battles. You mess with the orange juice, you get the pulp. And this haggis has been sticking his nostrils in the wrong orange juice."
Hippie Guitar Man brushed The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache's hand off his shoulder. He walked a few steps, and another shriek rang through the thickly wooded forest. He turned around. "If I don't come back in one day..." "Hamburgers." The Ridiculously White Man with the Handlebar Mustache finished. "What? What was that?" Hippie Guitar Man asked, perplexed. "I... I was trying to finish your sentence to show the readers that we've grown as characters and bonded, or something." "..." Hippie Guitar Man responded, backing away. "I don't know what you're talking about, man. BUT I'M GOING TO FIGHT THE HAGGIS!!!" He ran toward the cries of the demented creature. "Baaaaa!' Haggis called after him, encouragingly.
Hippie Guitar Man was alone now, running through the thick mass of bramble and trees. It was dark and foreboding. Just as a mountain climber could misplace his foot, and just as a 4 year old could cause a terrible cereal accident, this too could be a mistake. The twigs snapped under his feet.
After a while, he slowed. Silence. Strange, tense silence. He no longer heard the haggis's cries, but he knew he must be close. He could smell it. After another few minutes of walking, he stepped into a clearing. But not a natural clearing... Someone, or, dreading the thought, someTHING had knocked over the trees and tore them from the ground. He saw a footprint. Not a human footprint, but the footprint... of a toad. But right next to it was a much larger footprint... That of the haggis.
