Dragoncrest Cliffs You're wanted coast to coast

But there was no stahp.

Not even his nasally squawks summoned the omnipotent assistance he was accustomed to receiving whenever he found himself in a predicament he couldn't navigate. But the spirits were on his side—all at once his foot was spat back out.

That he was then spat up on went almost without registration. He felt it of course. It was wet. It was hot. It seeped down to his skin. But there was nothing in Loko's head to signal to him what to do about it or even if he should care. So, he just kind-of-sort-of lifted his head and bobbed his blunt little snout around for a moment. If the small squeak he made was to take a physical form, it would appear as a '?'. Soon followed by the ellipsis of flat-lined brain activity.

It was back to regular scheduling for him. Loko crawled toward his brother, shoved his head under Sobo's chin, and kept trying to crawl further. His stubby paws scraped fruitlessly in the dirt in the manner of a turtle with its nose butted up against some rock while its pea-brain tried to figure out if it could move it, get under it, or crawl over it—ever animated but getting no where fast.