His attempt to appease the guard-man from the pack of misfit toys had gone well, but Dingo was tired of seeking fish. He was more in to game meat himself, although chasing down a buck seemed entirely too dangerous. He'd never risk his neck like that for anyone, not even freaking Panther. But he was eager to scout the area nonetheless, and was patrolling further north when he found a dense copse of trees. With the idle hope that something edible would be hidden away somewhere among them, Dingo slunk in to the glen and began to explore. All he found was darkness at first - and as his eyes adjusted, he found the place quite pleasant. A bit quiet, but good enough.
Before getting down to business, he needed to do some business. He popped a squat and began to let loose, and was halfway through stinking up the place when he spotted some weird balls of glowing stuff. He'd never seen a firefly before, so the boy squinted at it and thought aloud,
anyway.
Dingo finished laying waste to the flora of the beautiful glen and swiftly removed himself from the dark spots where the glow-bugs were floating. He didn't get far before a droning sound caught in his ears; it was pretty faint at first, but when he stopped to listen to the weird tone (the what the crap look on his face again - or potentially stuck there) it became immeasurably worse. Dingo ducked out from the shadows and peered around some trees, watching the horizon, and then — that's when the bugs really came at him. They came hailing down upon him and the surrounding trees like it was a reduced-to-clear sale at Target; soon the trees were encrusted with bugs, and Dingo was left untouched, staring blankly at his surroundings.
After a beat, he shouted:
Before getting down to business, he needed to do some business. He popped a squat and began to let loose, and was halfway through stinking up the place when he spotted some weird balls of glowing stuff. He'd never seen a firefly before, so the boy squinted at it and thought aloud,
What the crap is this.They were like a pair of eyes drifting all around, and there were many of them. They juxtaposed the calm of the glen by making Dingo indescribably uncomfortable. It was like sitting down in a public washroom and realizing the door-lock didn't work, and there was some kind of nosey-neighbour trying to have a conversation with you and all you wanna do is say let me poop in peace gdi because really who cares about a stranger's political aspirations at that very second —
anyway.
Dingo finished laying waste to the flora of the beautiful glen and swiftly removed himself from the dark spots where the glow-bugs were floating. He didn't get far before a droning sound caught in his ears; it was pretty faint at first, but when he stopped to listen to the weird tone (the what the crap look on his face again - or potentially stuck there) it became immeasurably worse. Dingo ducked out from the shadows and peered around some trees, watching the horizon, and then — that's when the bugs really came at him. They came hailing down upon him and the surrounding trees like it was a reduced-to-clear sale at Target; soon the trees were encrusted with bugs, and Dingo was left untouched, staring blankly at his surroundings.
After a beat, he shouted:
THE HELL?
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