Myr's really missing out on the faces, isn't he? (It's a shame he isn't thinking of the intentional pun factor here; Everett's put him through enough he definitely deserves the chance to make someone else grimace from wordplay.)

At Papyrus' question, the Faun goes mock-sober, dropping his ears and leaning in for emphasis. "Everything," he intones seriously, "is lost.

"We missed a marrow one year in Hasmal. Just one measly little marrow. Six months later we'd vines up the walls to the third story and Enchanter Parsifal's bed was buried in fruit."

Granted, that was Enchanter Parsifal's fault for sleeping in the garden shack, and maybe the other apprentices in Creation had helped the marrow along a little as a prank, but the point remained.

"We had to burn the whole thing--and we still had sprouts the year following. Don't let them go to seed."