Tom Foolery strapped on his nuclear backpack and stepped out into the morning sun. It was going to be a good day. He could feel it.
“Eight is too many,” she said.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow.
She sighed, “But seven isn’t enough.” She groaned and pushed her face into her hands.
The shopkeeper folded his arms and inspected her over his eyeglasses. “Miss,” he said, “you understand these incinitaur pups will be as big as houses in just a few weeks?”
She glanced up at him. Her hands trembled. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’m counting on it.”