Moon and Red stood in place, speechless for brief moment. They took in the warmth and beauty of the room. It was homely and cosy, buried underneath a mountain of ice. The two began to walk towards the throne, silently tensing and looking around.
“The tuurngait, Red,” Moon said, his harsh infliction bouncing around the walls of the cavern, “where is it?”
“I don’t know,” Red replied, “he could be anywhere… or dead.”
“Somebody called?” a flamboyant male voice slurred from the end of the hall. Red and Moon snapped to attention as the throne shuddered.
It began to rock and finally it tipped forwards, crashing to the ground and revealing a big fat fairy with thin and greasy hair. He was painted in green and wearing nothing but his skin. As he rolled backwards over the ruins of the chair, he had a big cheesy grin on his face and a golden tobacco pipe in his hands.
“What is that thing?” Red mumbled in amazement, “How did we not see it when we came in?”
“You monkey,” Moon snapped, slapping Red square in the back of the head, “That’s the tuurngait!”
“That’s the tuurngait?” Red whistled, “I must have been thinking of the mystical green turnstile.”
“We apologize for Red’s rudeness, your powerfulness,” Moon hovelled, pulling back his hood and opening his arms piteously for the spirit.
“Oh, don’t apologize,” the tuurngait, still on his back, laughed with a campy and falsetto voice, “I’m actually glad you showed up. I’ve been ever so lonely.”
“Ah,” said Red, snapping out of a trance and bolting to Moon’s side, “You’re very welcome your holiness.”