They walked down the front steps of the farmhouse that were as gray as wildebeests. The wind sweeped between them, sounding like voices at a great symposium.

“You have another stone unturned,” the turtle said.

“Another riddle?”

The turtle shrugged, or at least, it looked like it.

“How am I supposed to figure out the difference between your riddles and your stupid comments?”

“You’re the chosen one,” turtle said. “Beats me.”

In the distance, dark clouds, purple and swollen, steam rolled through the atmosphere. The green farm landscape darkened. The turtle closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In front of them was a giant boulder.

“You need to make your choice, you haven’t got much time. It’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Ethan asked.

The turtle couldn’t point at the sky, so he just said, “That.”

“What?”

“THAT!” the turtle yelled.

“What’s that?”

“Do you see those dark clouds, you imbecile? Make your choice.”

“What choice?” Ethan asked.

“Based on the riddle.”

“What’ riddle?”

The turtle groaned.