They were out on their nightly constitutional, Walden and Zepp. The former had brought up the notion of twigs and their various sizes, and Zepp related his own convictions concerning the matter. These were typical conversations for young men of their ilk. The night before, they had pondered on the subject of bread crumbs and the many places to which they could lead. Zepp would never dare speak out of turn, but truth be told, he was not a fan of twigs and much preferred the conversation about bread over this one. But Walden was the outspoken one of their little duo, and was therefore the leader. Zepp just gave a sheepish sidekick smile and went along with whatever shenanigans his friend got them into. He secretly prayed, though, that the gods might intervene by some divine happenstance and spare him from further talk of twigs.
Sure enough, a shadow fell upon them from overhead just as Walden started into his thoughts on sapling needles. He sputtered into silence (a rare occurrence for the stalky man), and they looked up in dismay to see, descending from the blackness, something like a canopy or unmanned parachute. Frozen with fear and confusion, Zepp and his friend stared dumbfounded until a familiar smell brought them once more to their senses, and they leapt just in time to safety. The great brown sheet landed smoothly on the ground before them, sending up dust from its belly as it settled. With the waft of dust came that smell which had awakened them from their trance, and now again heightened their wits.
Zepp's eyes widened with joy, Walden's with anger.
