“I win,” Fox
shouts, jumping to his feet to perform an odd sort of shuffling
dance. “I win! I win! I win!”
“Calm down Vulps,”
Tulip says languidly, “It's not that much of a victory is it?”
“But I win,” Fox
replies shuffling sideways, “No matter what you say, a win is a win
is a win.”
“Win what?” Brock
asks, now even more confused.
“I said it'd be one
of the Weasels, and here you are. I win!”
“One of the Weasels?”
Brock realises he's getting more lost with every word that's said.
“We had a wager,”
Wren tells him, “To pass the time more than anything. What kind of
agent would the Forest send next.”
“And I said it'd be
one of the Weasels,” Fox declares, still dancing, “Badger is a
kind of Weasel. Here you are. So I win.”
“Win or not,” Tulip
snaps, “We're still trapped here.”
