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But then, on a moonless night, it happened. Jasper stumbled upon a clearing, bathed in silver light. There, standing amidst ferns and moss, was the Stinkfoot. And oh, dear reader, it was a sight to behold.
He was big, as promised—a hulking mass of tangled fur and sinew. His eyes glowed like dying embers, and his breath—oh, that breath—could peel wallpaper. But it was the smell that seared itself into Jasper’s memory. Imagine a thousand unwashed gym socks fermenting in a swamp. Yes, that foul.
Jasper’s heart raced. They fumbled for their phone, snapping a blurry photo. But the Stinkfoot turned, vanishing into the shadows. Jasper’s mind raced faster than their legs as they sprinted back to civilization.