An earth shattering boom jolted Feather's world, and he screamed. He continued to scream as the sand slid harmlessly off him and faded into the desert beneath.

"I'm okay..." He sighed, relaxing his little body.

"Well... this is surprising..." Said Artois, looking at Feather in his most regal manner.

"You didn't know?"

"How would I? My royal self has never been foolish enough to be trapped under such a measly trap."

Feather looked around. The desert was still the way it had always been. Desert-y.

Something tugged at his feet.

"I do not understand why any of this is happening. Do we just keep walking?" He asked, trying to get his feet to move.

"You can try."

"What do you mean 'try'? Surely we just.." He was stuck. Blinking, Feather looked down upon his scaly feet and observed how magnificently stuck they were.

"What now? Is it going to suck me in or something?"

Artois studied Feather's stuck feet with an expert's demeanor. "I think," said the white warthog, "That we may discover what the guardian meant by 'evil beneath the sand'."

"I--" Feather got no further before a pulse from beneath hit his small figure, sending it flying up in the air. Screaming from the top of his lungs, Feather saw how the desert dunes became smaller and smaller, while the field itself grew wider and wider.

Was this really a place that insisted on sending him to his death?

The wind resistance was overpowering. He had to close his eyes. He could not breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe...

He kept going up and up. Never stopping, never ending. Like his fall, only... up. After another eternity, he finally reached the apex of his flight, his speed slowing until it came to a stop. Weightless, he hung in the air, awaiting the inevitable gravitational tug of the world.

Wait... Carefully, he opened his eyes. The wait seemed endless, as if gravity was waiting for him to figure out the trick on his own. Of course, in a world where things are random, there may even be random instances of random help from the random environment.

Shocked, Feather found himself drifting in the air, without anything tugging him down. Around him, a plethora of soft-cotton clouds hung about - despite them very obviously not having been present in the desert sky before.

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"What's this?"

Something grabbed him and forcefully dragged him through the air, through misty clouds, until Feather came face to face with an eyeball. He was pulled slightly back, and the eyeball turned out to be two eyeballs set in a face that one might instinctively describe a chubby and angelic. A cherub, indeed.

"Are you a new toy?" The cherub asked, its giant face tilting to the side. It sat on a cloud, beside a bucket of sand.

"I am--" his desperate voice cracked, and Feather had to gulp to regain the ability to speak, "I am Feather, or Peter, or whatever name you will accept. Please don't kill me."

"Kill you?" The cherub tilted his head to the other side, "Why should I kill you? I don't kill my toys, I use them. Will you be my toy?"

"S-sure," he said, desperate to get on this creature's good side.

"Oh.. And you even brought an extra toy with you," said the Cherub, picking out something from the bucket, revealing the haughty form of Artoir. "Who are you?"

"I am the mighy, the indometable, the inscrutable, and majestic Artois!" Said the guide, seemingly undaunted by the mighty cherub. Said Cherub furrowed its brows and pouted.

"I don't like you."

"I am inclined to return the sentiment, evil-doer."

The giant tilted its head for the third time. "I am evil?" It said.

"You are."

"And what of you?"

"I am all the greatness of the world, contained within the mightiness that is I."

"Stupid," said the Cherub, shaking its head, "You are not a good toy. I think I will kill you."

"Wait, wait, please wait!" Feather said, shaking all of his limbs to get the giant's attention, "Please let him stay with me. He's all I've got!"

"But you have me now?" Said the cherub, innocent eyes zoning in on feather with all the malice that only a baby's face can achieve, "You don't need him, Feather."

"He'll be good, I promise! Please, I'll do whatever you want. Let him stay, please."

"Alright, then we will do this. I have a great place for you; I will let you stay there with this thing for as long as you can show me something fun. How's that?"

"Good good! I'll do it!"

"Great. Here you go." With a casual throw, the cherub flung Feather towards the sandy bucket. Having been thrown around so much, Feather wasn't too afraid this time. He was a bit concerned about the rate of which he was growing accustomed to the Random Road, though.

With his tounge flapping by the side of his face, Feather flew into the bucket, which at first seemed like a short flight. The moment he was past the edge of the bucket, he watched as the whole thing expanded, growing an entire world out of nothing. Or, rather, an old world, since this was exactly the sandy desert he had just come from. Realizing the drop was a lot greater than he had initially thought, Feather could not help himself from screaming in desperation.

"Oh stop being so pathetic," Through the roaring wind, Artois' voice still managed to penetrate into Feather's ears.

Seeing the warthog leasurely drop through the air beside him, with surprising elegance, Feather finally managed to stop his instinctual screaming.

"Will I be alright?" He asked, knowing how stupid the question was.

"Haven't you been until now?"

Sure. He had been surviving so far. In this place there was no knowing what constituted mortal danger. With that in mind, Feather hit the ground again with another massive boom. Though every fiber of his being told him it should have hurt like all hell, there was barely a tickle.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," he managed to say after spitting out all the sand he had swallowed.

"Perhaps you would like to rethink that?" Said Artois. Feather looked over at the guide, but the warthog was looking up into the air. confused, Feather looked up into the sky, recognizing the shadow coming for him. Knowing there was no escape, Feather closed his eyes and accepted what was coming.

The pancake hit him like a sledgehammer... again.