A boy stumbled into our village today. He carried an oak staff and wore poofy yellow pants with no shirt. Alma, Wetzu, and I were playing by the miracle well when we saw him. He looked up at us, smiled, then fainted.

“Quick, get some water Wetzu!” I yelled as Alma whimpered.

“Why do you always tell me what to do?” asked Wetzu as he pulled up the bucket.

“Because I’m older then you by six days. Now hurry!” I said as I ran to the boy.

Alma slowly walked over, and when Wetzu finally brought the water, we all crept closer to the boy. He looked fourteen, and his arms and chest were covered in scars.

“Is he dead?” Alma whispered.

“Probably.” Wetzu said. Alma started to cry.

“Is not!” I said, trying to calm her. Give him some water Wetzu. He poured the entire bucket in his mouth, and the boy gulped the whole thing!

“You’re gonna kill him!” I said.

“He’s already dead.” Wetzu said back.

With that the boy sat up, then jumped twenty feet in the air. “Boy have I got a story to tell you!” he said laughing.