A Solitary Black Sock I. Quaraun bent down to touch the sand, His fingers brushed a curious thing, A black cloth, small and rather bland, Oddly shaped, like it could cling, A puzzle from some distant land. A mystery found, strange, strange, strange, What could it be, strange, strange, strange. II. BoomFuzzy peered with furrowed brow, The cloth was soft, yet oddly stiff, An ancient relic, they knew not how, Or why it had washed ashore this cliff, An item lost, but not for now. Lost to the sea, old, old, old, Ancient and dark, old, old, old. III. Quaraun pondered with deep suspicion, A magic tool, or cursed device? Perhaps it held a dark magician,

I. Quaraun sat in his pink silk tent, Rain drummed softly, thunder low, His thoughts like smoke, serene ascent, Fur pelts beneath, a gentle glow, Peaceful in the storm's content. Soft the thunder, slow, slow, slow, BoomFuzzy breathed, slow, slow, slow. II. The hookah's tendrils curled in air, Calm and steady, each breath he drew, Echoes of dreams lingered there, Night's embrace, the world anew, Quaraun watched with tender care. BoomFuzzy slept in deep, deep peace, GhoulSpawn beside, deep, deep peace.