The fairy and the gnome were riding on the back of a demonic murder muffin. Battlepaws was braving the morning fog, ready to tear anything that jumped at them. The kitten knew that his friends had things to work through, and so, as he walked, he purred gently.
Purring, Battlepaws knew, mended the soul. It was the only good thing the Universe had given to the demonic murder muffins, apart from their cuteness.
As the kitten looked ahead, he stopped. He saw that the bridge which lead to the swampy lands was broken. A hand was floating in the murky water.
Battlepaws was not born yesterday. He knew a trap when he saw one. The kitten let out a meow and sat down loaf style.
His passengers got down with ease, the fairy refusing to look at the gnome and the gnome longing for just a glance.
