Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 39

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ever stink again.

“Y-yes,” stammered Hobgoblin.

“Good,” said the Huntress, nudging him with her scrub brush. “Go there.”

The next hour passed with Hobgoblin in a fog of terror. Horrific visions of swirling soap bubbles, purifying water, and scratchy brushes invaded his mind. His legs felt wobbly as he tromped through the chatty, twittery, very stinky forest.

Before he could see it, Hobgoblin could hear the delicate tinkle of Fresh Falls flowing into the Pool of Purity.

He and the flies gasped as they entered a slight clearing and beheld a perfectly clear waterfall. A sheet of water streamed cleanly down a sheer, smooth cliff face of polished bright blue rock. Silver twinkles of moonlight shimmered where the cascading water met the pool. It was all completely flawless—and to Hobgoblin and his flies, completely chilling.

The Huntress directed them around the slippery rocks that surrounded the Pool of Purity, right up to the gleaming waterfall.

“Go in,” she said.