Barrow Fields i would ask, almost insist, on treating you kind and fair

his brown knitted as lusca concocted the perfect riposte -- a witty little retort that left him reeling. it didn't help his nose still stung -- with a dark scowl shot in her direction he rubbed his sore muzzle. it appeared playing bard was a two person game -- and while he didn't mind the competition, he certainly minded the not-so-subtle jab cleverly insinuated into her stanzas. a jab, he thought, that was as painful as the physical one that preceded it.

"woe is me," he began to croon, lifting his wounded muzzle skyward -- "how could it beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, this lady she beeeeeeeeeee, starving and SKIIIINNYYY,  reeeeeeGRETAAAABLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY --" he pried an eye open, peering at her with uncertainty -- "she woooonnnnnt


toOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCHH


MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY


mushpIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG!" his ditty ended on a high note -- as did he -- fearful of a second snout-jab, tachyon stepped back for his safety.