Pip leaned in closer, his voice full of a new, even more profound level of paranoia. "So," he whispered. "The pastries are trapped, too, right?"
Gilda opened her mouth to shut him down, but then she hesitated. She let out a long, weary sigh.
They had been in this park for less than an hour. In that time, she had been told off by a disembodied voice for sitting on the grass, and she had watched a plush knight get a formal citation for bending a single leaf. At this point, a trapped pastry didn't seem so strange. Besides, she was hungry.
"Fine," Gilda grunted, the word a final surrender to the absurdity of it all. "Let's go see the pastries."
Pip's face lit up. His moment of quiet victory was cut short by a heroic declaration from Sir Crumplebuns, who had clearly recovered from the shock of his crime.
"A NEW VENUE FOR OUR HEROIC PATROL!"
