Clearing the trees, the boy stood in the tall yellow and green grass. A light breeze caused it to tickle his knees. The pig and rat-terrier were too short to see above it.

“If you’d like to know what’s ahead of you as we’re walking, feel free to ask,” laughed Roscoe, although his head barely stuck above the grass that tickled his neck.

“It doesn’t matter to me, goat. Just don’t get us lost!” Clementine said.

Benjamin laughed as Paco jumped above the grass every few steps so he could see. “Boy, Paco, you can jump pretty high!”

“It can get tiring after so long,” the dog panted.

“From the looks of it we’ll be walking in this grass for a while,” Roscoe giggled.

Green pastures stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was home to an endless number of evergreen trees, each standing alone. A light wind blew over the waves of grass, releasing the smell of weeds and wildflowers.

“King Benjamin,” Clementine asked, “what was it like being the owner of one of the kingdom’s greatest rulers ever?”

Benjamin had to let that sink in. He’d almost forgotten that the whole reason for their mission was the assassination of his dog, their king, by a snake named Farangis.

“Pugs–uh, King Pugsly was the best dog I could ever ask for. He always wanted to play and wrestle…until about a year ago. My dad said he was getting old and tired.”

“That’s how we all feel, Sire.” Paco was taking more steps with every hop.

“Paco, you don’t look very old at all!”

“I’m only three years younger than King Pugsly, but I believe you humans have a different way of counting age.”

“No,” Roscoe chimed in, “I think it’s you dogs who count weird.”

“Well, how old are you, goat?” Clementine asked.

“How old are you?”

“I asked first.”

“Well, let’s say it at the same time. On the count of three.”

“Okay!” Clementine enthused. “One…” Paco sighed. “Two…” Their eyes locked. “Three!” Neither spoke. “Hey, you didn’t say anything!” The pig moaned.

“Oh, well neither did you!” Roscoe said dumbly.

Paco lost his patience. “For crying out loud! Roscoe, you are three goat years old. And Clementine, is it not true that you’re also three?”

“Yes, but I’ll be four this coming winter!”

Benjamin laughed.

“So there you have it. I’m old and wise and you two are immature babies.” Paco marched off through the grass.

Clementine ventured, “But technically I’m still older–”

“Pig!” Paco’s look was not to be argued with. “This is going to be a long trip!”

Clementine held his tongue and tried to look indifferent through his wounded pride, all the while watching Paco out of the corner of his eye.

• • • • •