“So you’re a prince?” said Brian. “What are you the prince of?”
“I rule this wood, from the first oak to the last sapling!”
Brian glanced around. “That’s about three trees.”
“Insolent!” said the Prince. He waved tiny fists. “A dark cloud the size of an apple appeared. A minuscule lightning bolt flicked out, stinging Brian’s nose. “Teach this impudent whelp a lesson, minions of the forest!”
An elderly badger struggled from its burrow. Brian rubbed his nose as the badger solemnly gummed his sneakers. Brian glanced at the self-proclaimed monarch.
“There have been some regrettable cutbacks,” the Prince allowed.
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