My parts of the story are in Italics, my sister Raeanne is in Bold.
The night was long and dark and Milton the Dragon couldn't sleep. These days, he had much to worry about.The upcoming fight with the Wicked Wizard Garth, and the fact that he wasn't really prepared for it. And he really wanted some Chinese take-out.
"Stop worrying!" grumbled his cave-mate, Philbert the Gryphon. "You haven't died yet!"
"Thank you for the moral support, Bert," snapped Milton.
"That's what I'm here for. I could really go for some Chinese take-out about now," Philbert mentioned.
"I was just thinking that very thing. We're only an hour's fly from China, wanna go?" Milton asked, yawning and wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"Sure! I love to know how the Chinese dragons manage to fit so many Chinese people into those tiny boxes!" Philbert Exclaimed.
"Yeah!" Milton agreed, "I've been meaning to find out about that. Eggrolls, to!"
"How do they stop them from squirming in those?" Phil laughed.
Years of practice, so I'm told," Stated Milton solemnly.
"Bruddah, you been lied to." laughed Philbert. "So how about that food then?"
Milton sat up, laced up his shiny new Air Jordans, and headed to the cave door.
The two lifted off and headed towards the rising sun. They didn't get far before they were interrupted by... the Fuzzy Pink Wombat of the East, beset by her minions of scaled wobjobbins. And bad ones, too.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll land on that hill over yonder, or prepare to be iced!" bellowed the fuzzy pink wombat.
"Oh I hope it's not chocolate! Those who are iced with chocolate seldom live to tell the tale!" Phil panicked.
"Pray for vanilla." Milton agreed. They banked to the left and landed on the grassy hill.
"Bring on the pinapple, Wobjobbins!" Barked the pastel marsupial.
"We are saved!" sobbed Milton. "Dragon scales are impervious to pineapple! Well, I'm saved. You're pretty much screwed, Philby." Patting his shoulder, they waited for impact.
As Phil cried silently, Milton, feeling brave, looked about him for a solution. Finally, his hopes were answered. whispering to Phil that he had a plan, Milton stepped forward.
"Well, seeing you've thought of everything, need I remind you that pink wombats don't like purple daffodil fields?" Milton said.
"So?" asked the pink wombat of doom.
"So ya landed us in a field of purple daffodils. Dorks."
"That is irrelevent right now," She said weekly. "Wobjobbins! Flubba deedle cork-hop!" The pineapple icing was off with the wobbies.
"That's Wobjobbin for 'go'. Well," Milton flew over Philbert just in time for umbrella action.
"Wait!" stopped the pink wombat. "Did he say purple daffodils?"
The wombat let out a curdling scream and abruptly turned into an eggplant.
