Lost in the wilds at the edge of a forest, a man was busy at work carefully arranging his fire. He had to get it just right, otherwise his old pot wouldn't heat properly. It was important he got dinner right, else he'd struggle to be his usual chirpy self.

He hunched over the logs, spreading them just the right distance apart. Licking his lips he began to hum an old tune he'd heard on his travels, thinking merrily about the cluster of yams he'd found in the forest earlier that day. They would make a good addition to his potato and pea soup, and his mouth watered at the prospect.

His gleeful introspection was interrupted by a nudge on his backside.

He turned to face the rude donkey, a look of displeasure painting his face.

"I can't make your supper until I get the fire going," he reprimanded. "Honestly Sausage, you've got the patience of an unpaid Tavern lady."

"I don't want to eat," Sausage complained. "I want to keep going."

"We can't keep going on empty stomachs. Besides, what help are we going to be if we're too tired to lift our arms?"

Oats turned back to the campfire.

"I want to find him as bad as you do, but we can't be going off all cranky and confused."

"I'm not the one that's confused," the donkey complained. "You’re confused. You're the one that went and got us all lost."

"We didn't know where we were going in the first place," Oats snapped, spinning to point a stick at his brother. "If you've got some bright idea, I'd love to hear it."

Sausage seemed to think for a moment, then looked to the ground.

"I miss the carrot man," he said mournfully.

Oats sighed.

"I miss him too," he said, grabbing his old pot from the cart.

"We're not done looking, brother. We just need to get some rest."

He set the pot into place, and held a rune dice to one of the logs, and the fire caught alight. In one of the pockets of one of his bags, he found a cold little crystal among others of its kind, and threw it into the pot. When it clanged against the iron, it shattered, and filled the pot halfway with water.

He rubbed his sore legs. It had been a long week of walking, since Sausage had refused to carry his weight in the cart. Half of the trip he'd been pulling the cart himself. It had been a full day since they'd last stopped to rest their feet. He wanted to find Murphy as much as Sausage did, his desire to sit down was too strong to ignore. The donkey had four strong legs to carry himself, but for Oats, those days were behind him.

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The water steamed, so he started preparing the vegetables. The yams were easy to clean, since neither of them cared too much about the dirt. The potatoes went in whole, he was planning for them to be soft enough to fall apart. After chucking in the potatoes, he eagerly waddled towards his seat. He started to sit when one of the logs under his pot slipped. He lunged forward and caught the toppling pot, then yelped in pain when the metal burned his fingers. To his credit, he caught the pot with his boot when he flinched away.

"Damn these logs," he huffed, shaking his hands.

"Hand me that rock there would you," he requested, pointing with his nose at a nearby stone.

Sausage nudged it towards him, making him bend down awkwardly to grab it. He carefully slid the stone into place, standing on one foot the whole time. Successful, he stood back and sighed in relief.

"That was a close one."

He walked back to his seat. He felt the burn in his thighs as he squatted. And eagerly anticipated his sweet relaxing relief.

"What about the peas?" Sausage complained.

Oats groaned, and ceased his decline. He pulled himself against the gravity, and trudged back towards the fire. He rummaged through a small sack, and started chucking handfuls of peas into the bubbling stew.

"How will we find him?" Sausage asked.

"I don't know, to be sure," Oats said with a strain in his voice as he stood straight. "He took off so quick I don't even know where to start looking for a trail. But we know the monster went this way, and wherever there's chaos we're sure to find our Warlock."

He hobbled back to his seat, and began his descent.

"Do you expect me to stir that with my hoof?" Sausage questioned.

Oats whimpered, and struggled not to drop. He dragged his feet to the fire, and lazily grabbed a stick from the ground. He plunged it into the soup, swirling it slowly as if it were a chore.

"I hope we find some chaos then," Sausage mused. "It's too quiet without the carrot man."

"I'm sure we will find something," Oats assured him half heartedly. "I get the feeling that wasn't the last we'll see of Muunfir the Mischievous," he chuckled.

He trudged back to his seat, and turned to give the donkey a serious look.

"Did I forget anything else, boss?" He asked sarcastically.

Sausage shook his head slowly.

Oats smiled, and closed his eyes to sit.

For a moment, his legs burned again. Though in the next moment, he felt the wave of bliss run through his body when his backside met its new home.

He sighed in satisfaction, and opened his eyes to enjoy the peace.

A soft explosion rang in the distance.

They looked at each other.

Another explosion rippled through the nearby hills.

Sausage was about to speak, but was silenced by Oats holding up a finger.

"It could just be a coincidence," he offered.

"Or…" Sausage refuted.

Several more explosions sounded off in quick succession.

Sausage looked at Oats,

Oats looked back with a stern face.

Then he moaned and hung his head.

"Looks like we found the chaos," he complained, as he struggled to his feet to begin walking.