One day sunny, one day overcast, one day rainy.
The lotus flowers withered in October. Their twisted black-and-yellow stalks jutted above the water. Old Toad lay atop the only round stone, belly sticking out, puffing white smoke as he blissfully drifted into dreams, went to see the pond that belonged to him in his dreams. Great Beaver held up a wooden board against the rain, rushing to finish the work.
Bang!
Water splashed.
Weapons tore through the curtain of rain. Transparent droplets exploded into white mist in mid-air, fluttering down over the pond like another shower beneath the rain.
The small black shadows crossed, flickered, charged, and roared. Their muscles bulged as a great bone club and the Nine-Ring Tin Staff, one horizontal and one vertical, clashed with the ring of metal, violence smashing against violence.
Turn, gather strength, strike with club/staff!
Bang bang bang.
Clang clang clang!
The two River Otters bared their sharp teeth, their gazes keen. Both gripped weapons far taller than themselves, throwing everything they had into a frenzied exchange, sweat flying.
Great battles sometimes erupted this abruptly.
The youngsters from Scarface's family had come looking for Ta Ta Kai's family. They had grown sick of the vegetarian meals on the mountain, their mouths so bland they could taste birds, and had gone down the mountain to find drinking-and-meat friends. After several days without returning, they were found utterly exhausted, mouths twisted, eyes askew, foaming at the mouth as they convulsed beside the pond.
Even Buddha had fire!
Wrathful Vajra!
Boom!
A ring-shaped shockwave exploded outward.
Ta Ta Kai skidded backward across the ground, stumbling as if about to fall. He suddenly planted the staff handle against the ground, steadying himself—only to see Scarface descending from the sky. Oh, misery!
He had just followed the heavenly