"Go," said the enchantress, "and see ye the one known as Clint. But be
warned, his medicine is potent; few have entered his cave, and even less
have returned. So take with you this talisman."

She plucked it from her ample chest and thrust into his sweaty palm a
tiny upright mexican bean. He pocketed it and crawled across the mountains
for twenty eight days. When his labours were finished he fumbled for the
bean but could find it no more. He crawled back another twenty seven and a
half days to where he'd come from and saw the enchantress standing bemused
by a series of petrol pumps.

"You forgot the bean, didn't you," said the enchantress.

But he was unable to speak, his tounge swollen and parched with his
labours over the crucifying desert had grown so pulpy in his mouth it was
as if he had two sausages and a severe dental case and couldn't speak at
all.

"Seek ye the one known as Clint, but be warned; few have entered his cave,
and even fewer returned. Take you this talisman, one small mexican bean,
and remember: go."

For twenty eight days he crossed the desert. His eyes glistening with
the parched waters of love, his mouth snarling for the occasional plant and
jack rabbit that danced into the uterine thing of his part. Nobody could
stop him now.

"See ye the one known as, Leo? Jeff? Dennis?"

For twenty seven days he crawled back across the desert. His tounge so
swollen with pain he could barely lick the occaisional spike from the
cactus to deeply needed nutrition from way below the ground. Eventually he
crawled over the ridge, and there standing on the petrol pumps was the
enchantress.

"Forgot his name didn't you?"

He was unable to speak.