Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 27

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makes you think of onion soup, and you wish we could eat some for dinner. I’m sorry, but all we have to eat is bean curdle.”

The flies gave each other worried glances. Hobgoblin didn’t seem to fully understand the danger he was in, but the flies sure did. They couldn’t bear to think of their beloved friend without his stink. A hobgoblin without stink would be like a bird without wings.

On the rare occasions when Hobgoblin showed the tiniest amount of concern about the ogre king, it was always short-lived. He was very easily distracted.

“Turd blossoms!” yelled Hobgoblin.

The shocked flies instinctively darted into the little tufts of hair by Hobgoblin’s ears for protection. They peeked out to see him pointing to the Fetid Forest’s tree line, where little pink flowers sprang from the muck.

Rare and delicious turd blossoms were one of Hobgoblin’s favorite snacks. The sight of them excited him so much that he forgot two very important things: 1) he was holding a tuba, and 2) he was standing behind a fence.

Lurching forward with his eyes on the turd