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FICTION| THE MUSE| A WOLFIE TALE
It’s All About Give and Take
The Ogre’s Gala — Partyin’ with me Wolfie
Well, hullo me lovelies. I know ya’ll be thinkin’ me goofy human would be a-writin’ this, but no. It be me. The Muse. Me little buddy, Wolfie, wrote a piece about our amazin’ trip to the Bulagalula Festival. It’s an ogre celebration that only happens every 150 years. It’s a hoot.
We’d been goin’ strong fer about three days when we headed inta the Green Glory Tavern. Tis the only bar in the ogre village, but they serve some o’ the best brews in land. I could tell that Wolfie was about at his wits end. He was swervin’ to and fro as he made his way to the cube races. As he did so, I heard one o’ the ogres talkin’ some shite about me friend. Pissed me right off, it did.
One o’ them daft bastards decided to show his grit and challenge the whole lot of us to a drinkin’ contest. And lo and behold, who should it be? Barry the Big Head. One o’ the orneriest ogres in the village. He’s ne’er had a kind word fer humans, especially the ones who have shape-shiftin’ abilities.
