The God of Stories fell into Fantasy Time; alas, until ideas are written down, they belong to the God of Fiction. Hence, after a brief indulgence in fantasy, the God of Stories grew a bit irritable again.
After all, as the God of Stories, his imagination should be the richest among the gods. Perhaps only Narrative and Coloring could rival him—the former with the sheer number of manuscripts and the latter with abstract paintings beyond his comprehension.
But now, whenever he began to fantasize, the God of Fiction would snatch away the value of his fantasies, which irked him greatly.
Various expressions on Mr. Big Gray Wolf's face were all caught by a spectator not far away.
Gou, gnawing on roasted meat and blinking his dog eyes, watched the werewolf at the next table flashing all kinds of perverted grins. He shuddered involuntarily and quickly averted his gaze, complaining to a Black Dwarf drinking buddy by his side:
