WOOOSH~

The cuntant slurps, “Ah! Dat, is de mead dat a song-dried throat thuursts!” He places the mug down with a THUD.

“Now that your throa—”.

“Nouu~ dat vie had sumth’n, why aan’t we/vie speak dat destinashion~... Gurgh~”

The racoon held his mouth, burping.

“Of yers that ya so wanna reach?”

“You needn’t concern yourself wit—”

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“Eh, boy?” the cuntant finishes.

A pause, “…I heard we were traveling to the nearby Blue Kingdom.”

The racoon raises his eyebrows. ““Heard?”, aren't ya quite unsure on yer journey?”

“That’s what Sir Sergio said.” the boy shrank in his seat.

“Hoo~ guess de oh-so-knight aan’t serving de noble…”

“Hmph! Off with your assumptions!” the knight shooed him.

Ignoring, “So ya must be tak’n de elda route thru de witch’s treeland.”

“It might be the route to the forest or the route to the barn, you—”

Interrupting and leaving the knight in a fury, “Denn, heed tis: never so ever lay yer paws on de land of He-Who-Hates-Bananas else ya like yerself fried in his cauldron.”

The skeleton chokes on his mead, the boy’s face grows curious and Joodle turns to take an interest in the exchange.

“Whose wild stack of hay?”