Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 30

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with sludge. Once he felt suitably soiled for sleep, he sat down on the soft mound of muck that he used for a bed. The flies sat on top of his head with their eyes closed and their hands clasped before them.

Candlelight gently danced across their faces. Hobgoblin grasped the corked vial he wore around his neck. Inside was a little normal-looking bean. He kissed the vial, closed his eyes, and interlaced his fingers. He then recited an ancient hobgoblin prayer.

“Dear Pre-Bean,” he said. “You’re the first bean ever harvested by a hobgoblin in the Mucklands. You are the source of our pride, our livelihood, and our wonderful, hilarious farts. For that, we thank you.”

The flies nodded in quiet agreement.

Eyes still closed, Hobgoblin let loose a respectful, ceremonial fart. The flies applauded in an adorable, barely audible sort of way.

Hobgoblin yawned, and the flies nestled onto his