“Yeah, whoopty-doo. Isn’t that marvelous?” Clementine laughed in frustration. “I guess we’ll be going now since we’ve got a big trip ahead of us–”

The largest goat stepped forward. “Tell us, tiny pig, whoop! What makes you think you are free to leave after trespassing on our sacred land?”

Clementine was scared speechless. “Uh, well…um…” He turned to Roscoe. “Oh, good grief! You talk to him, you stupid goat!”

“Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!” The entire herd started yelling and stomping madly.

“You find it wise to insult the mighty Zebulon and his family?”

Benjamin reached in his backpack, causing the goats to whoop madly.

“I wouldn’t do that, My King. There are too many,” Paco said from the corner of his mouth.

Benjamin put his arm back at his side. I hope Roscoe doesn’t get us killed.

Roscoe cleared his throat. “M-m-my name is Roscoe,” he smiled, trying not to look frightened, “and you’ve already met Clementine.” The pig looked down. “And next to me is Paco; he’s really nice.” Roscoe laughed nervously. “And this is King Benjamin.”

The great goat’s neck jerked back. “A king? Whoop!”

“A king? He’s a king?” the goats said to each other. “Where are his horns?”

Roscoe felt numbness creep up his spine. “This may sound crazy, no offense…”

“WHOOP!”

“… but I believe I may be your distant cousin.”

The wild goats whooped and laughed crazily. Zebulon walked up to the little goat and snorted a blast of air down at him. Roscoe tried to hold his breath as the great goat’s putrid stench crept up his nose. But Roscoe couldn’t turn away from the hypnotizing amber eyes.

“A cousin, you say? Whoop!”

“Y-yes, sir. My family lives on a farm a long way from here. My father told me years ago he went looking for some distant cousins that lived near Persly’s Woods.”

“What is his name?”

“Uh, well, he doesn’t really have a name…I mean, the t-t-two old hags that own the farm named him but–”

“WHAT IS HIS NAME?” Zebulon impatiently breathed through his large nostrils.

“Well…Stinky.” Roscoe sighed and looked at the ground in shame. “The old ladies named him Stinky.” Some of the goats laughed. Clementine held his in.

“So, Roscoe, son of Stinky, you claim a kinship to my clan? Whoop!”

“Y-yes, sir. My father told me that his family wanted to regain old ties with their lost wild cousins.”

“WILD?! Whoop! What arrogance lets you think we’re wild? WHOOP!”

Roscoe felt the sudden nauseous signals of blacking out.

Benjamin felt he needed to say something. “Look, he didn’t mean anything by it.”

The large herd grew agitated. “The boy talks! He understands! What kind of foul nature have you brought to us?”

“No, calm down,” Paco said. “There’s nothing foul here! He’s our king, and he has no intention of harming any of you.”