Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Jasfoup found Harold on the edge of the bowling green, sheltering under a brolly as the rain lashed over the bowling green. “Why stop play?” he said. “We’re not made of paper. We won’t melt.”
“Not everyone has your skill with the bowl, old chap.” Jasfoup sat next to him on the grassy bank and spread out his wings. Harold smiled in gratitude and folded the umbrella. The demon’s wings were so much larger.
“It’s not fair,” he said. “We were winning.”
“And you’ll win next time too.” Jasfoup patted his hand. “Come on, Harold, old chap. Let’s go home.”