Grif has stretched out on a branch, like the worst imitation of a jungle cat. He's watching the creatures as they pace below, sometimes one gets brave enough to try and make the jump.
Luckily, they split the last one that was big enough to possibly succeed.
"Hey Rich," says Grif, a thought crossing his mind. A remembered conversation on a couch, about sled dogs and zombies in Alaska.
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Grif has stretched out on a branch, like the worst imitation of a jungle cat. He's watching the creatures as they pace below, sometimes one gets brave enough to try and make the jump.
Luckily, they split the last one that was big enough to possibly succeed.
"Hey Rich," says Grif, a thought crossing his mind. A remembered conversation on a couch, about sled dogs and zombies in Alaska.
"I found you some dogs."
His grin can only be described as shit-eating.