In a world cloaked in thick fog and endless swamps, where the sun barely pierced through the grey clouds, an unusual battle was about to take place. At the crest of a hill stood the warriors of the Tooth Herd—beings with sturdy roots burrowed deep into the ground, armed only with shields and spears.
From the murky depths of the bogs crawled the Carious Horde—creatures of decay and darkness. They approached slowly, hissing and gurgling, as if the very earth had decided to rise against the defenders.
Molar the Gloomy, leader of the herd, raised his spear and said with a touch of irony:
— "Well then, lads, seems it's time tae fend off these rottin' eejits again. Keep yer shields tight, spears sharp, an' spirits high!"
— "Again?" muttered Incisor the Indifferent, adjusting his shield. "Can they no' take a day aff?"
— "Looks like decay doesnae keep a schedule," smirked Molar.
The warriors formed a line, their shields gleaming even in the dim light. The enemy lunged at them with the enthusiasm of a weary snail.
Spears pierced the dark forms of the foes, which dissolved with a hiss. The battle felt more like a routine than an epic clash.
— "Seems there's fewer o' them today," noted Canine the Cynical, pushing away another creature.
— "Maybe the rest stayed hame tae watch the mould grow," suggested Molar.
As the first rays of the sun broke through the mist, the enemies began to retreat, hissing in displeasure.
— "Well, that's that," said Molar, lowering his spear. "Dealt with them quick enough."
— "Till next time," yawned Incisor. "Maybe they'll think o' somethin' new the morra?"
— "Doubt it," sighed Molar. "But hope dies last, unlike them."
The warriors slowly made their way back through the swamps, their roots swaying slightly with each step. They knew that the fight against decay would never truly end, but at least today they could return home and reflect on the day gone by.
— "Wonder if we'll ever see those fabled dry lands?" mused Canine.
— "Only in our dreams," smiled Molar. "But dreamin's no harm—unlike decay."
