Thousand: Three Hundred Four

fisher gnome added, “And it’s terrible! The heavens will open and dirt will rain down instead of water. Asps will snap out of petunias. Dogs will bark backwards. But the worst of it will come to roost on your clever little cottage. A swamp monster tall as a mizzen mast, breathing green gas, will squat over your chimney and.” And what? Why was he making things up? He had the book right there. Hurriedly the fisher gnome pawed through the whisper-thin pages. “And the Achilles tendon will ache,” he finished lamely. His host moaned. That did the trick then. The