“Five!”
Only it’s not sand now. He’s lying down on it and to his tender back it seems more like sandpaper than sand. His mis-shapened ears are reaching for a new sound. He hears someone shout,”Gaarrrrp, mon chp, garp gaaaarrrp.”
He can’t make out the words and his heavy lids crash down like rollup doors slamming over his blurry eyes.
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