They splashed through a stream and bit into its far bank, before bulldozing up it and lurching across another field. Dark Alchemists ricocheted along the aisle and at least one bag exploded.
“Where are the fluffing lights?” Sinson-Rascalian cried, his paws jiggling levers and wiggling a stick that made the engine roar in a manner suggesting even it had no idea. Amidst yelps from bruised animals and the odd scream, the banished driver tried explaining the difference, as he understood it, between brake and accelerator. With a free paw, Sinson-Rascalian hit him, before grabbing the wheel again when everything teetered at a ridiculous angle. In an effort at redemption, the banished driver reached further to jiggle some levers. When Sinson-Rascalian cried that he couldn’t see through the stupi
