The troop – minus one – waited at the rendez-vous point. The ogre was always late.
The goblin poked at a hole in the dirt with a stick.
The orc shifted his pack and stepped once more through his mental checklist. Meat. Check. Floss. Check. Tent. Check.
There was a sound of crashing trees, and Mumbles the Ogre burst into the clearing. His momentum carried him too far forward. As he reeled back there was an enormous clatter very much like an entire household of goods being slid around and banged against stiff wooden walls. There was in fact a small house strapped to Mumbles’ back.
The orc stared.
The goblin squinted at Mumbles, read his t-shirt, and frowned.
“Be Prepared,” it said.
Mumbles grinned. “Ready!”