“See, Ma? Nogard’s got the mange!”
“You’re right, Cliven. Why didn’t I notice before? Dear, poor Nogard. You must itch something fierce!”
“What should we do, Ma?”
“We could treat it ourselves, but it looks pretty advanced. We should probably call the Veterinary Cleric. I’m pretty sure he treats dragons.”
The heifer chewed her cud. It was thicker than yesterday’s. Oh, what was that? There was something crunchy in her mouth. Cud wasn’t supposed to crunch. Had she eaten something unusual this afternoon? The heifer couldn’t remember.
In the farm house, George softly rubbed his bandaged stump, already plotting revenge.
After disarming the bomb in the locomotive’s engine, Evan Edgelow fought his way to the caboose, where the hostages were. He cut the car loose and began loading people into the bus.
“Where’s my kitty?” cried a distraught child.
Evan reached inside his jacket. “Right here,” he said.
Everyone cheered.