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Chapter Forty-Four: And Meanwhile, in the Mountains...

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And meanwhile, way the heck up in the mountains, crossing glaciers and alpine steppes and tundras, was that oft-mentioned young king himself, dear old Jorkulhaup Bortvelding, looking for a living wooly mammoth to kill and getting very rapidly very frustrated. He was just starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he could see it in himself to mistake that crummy old senile royal advisor for a wooly mammoth himself and kill him in glorious battle instead, but then he heard a sound on the wind that sounded - that sounded just like - yes, unmistakably it was - the trumpeting call of a great bull wooly mammoth to its mate! Or maybe it was just the wind, which was strong and heavily laden down with snow, howling around the edge of some stony crag. But whatever it was, the young man who happened to have been the king just moments before, but who had just now been rather unfortunately (but definitely in a situation that told strongly of the young man's extreme well endowment in the gullibilty department) usurped by that same cursed crafty old senile royal advisor, was reinvigorated in his quest and pushed on energetically through the howling, freezing cold storm of wind laden down with snow on a barren icy mountaintop somewhere many miles from and above that fair land of Mirrglbury (which I know that you love dearly, to be sure).

It took Jorkulhaup a year and a half of a year again to find his wooly mammoth. (You knew that he was going to find one, didn't you? I mean, come on, you knew it all along. Extinction means nothing when the fate of a nation and the self-esteem of some random young man who is named after the Icelandic word for a glacial outburst flood, except that his name has an 'r' in it and the Icelandic word for a glacial outburst flood does not have an 'r' in it, is at stake. Of course he was going to find a wooly mammoth, I mean, seriously, folks. Clearly you have not watched enough bad movies or predicatable soap opera television shows in your life. Go and watch more of them. There will be a test on "Predicting Plot Devices" in the morning. If you do not get a perfect one hundred percent on the test, then you will be taken out and summarily shot. I send my apologies to your family in advance. Thank you. That is all.) But he did find it, despite the scheming of the wind and the weather and that stupid old Dinkplutter the so-called wise royal giver of advice to the king. Hmph. What a load of hooey that was. But, yes, anyhow, moving on. Wooly mammoth.
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