He's A Werewolf! That's Why He's Been

He Was Going To Be Armed With His Wand - Which, Just Now, Felt Like Nothing More Than A Narrow Strip Of Wood - Against A Fifty-foot-high, Scaly, Spike-ridden, Fire-breathing Dragon.

You Can Laugh! But People Used To Believe There Were No Such Things As The Blibbering Humdinger Or The Crumple-horned Snorkack!

His Eyes Are As Green As A Fresh Pickled Toad, His Hair Is As Dark As A Blackboard. I Wish He Was Mine, He's Really Divine, The Hero Who Conquered The Dark Lord.

He Might Have Been Encased In A Thick Glass Bubble, So Separate Did He Feel From His Three Dining Companions. It Was A Sensation With Which He Was Only Too Familiar, That Of Walking In A Giant Sphere Of Worry, Enclosed By It, Watching His Own Terrors Roll By, Obscuring The Outside World.

There Is No Point In Apportioning Blame. What Is Done, Is Done.