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Celuien walked into Boromir's cafe, a dripping box under one arm and a willow wand under the other. Loud ribbits could be heard coming from the box.
"Take those disgusting frogs out of here!" shouted one villager. "It's bad enough that you fill your own hut with them. We don't want them in here while we're trying to think."
"Now, now," returned Celuien. "There's no harm in them. Besides, how could you expect me to leave my darlings unattended when there are werewolves rampaging through Tinseltown?" She glared at the villager and sat down at a table.
"What's the stick for?" queried another.
"You'll just have to see," came the mysterious reply. To herself she added what, you've never heard of a willow rod for divining? Granted that's usually for water, but why not try it on wolves too? It's as good as anything else I have to go on. Grasping at straws, grasping at straws...
With that, Celuien ordered a mug of coffee and muttered to herself with a glowering expression on her face.
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People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect. But actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff.
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