Prologue
"Wow," Crane sighed. He stretched his wings and yawned. "Slow week."
The sun set, glimmering in through Crane's window. A soft light bathed the Valley of Peace with warm embrace. The night was almost upon the valley's peaks, though Crane couldn't seem to sleep, unlike the others.
"That's odd," Crane remarked. Strangely enough, Crane had been anticipating something extraordinary; for what, he was clueless. Eventually, to Crane's relief, sleep had wrapped its wings around his own. As he fell into slumber, he saw the shadows form into an iguana, of odd proportions. The shadows stretched and split on one end into three protrusions, tapering into points at the ends, after the outer segments curved to bull-like horns: a pitchfork. And before Crane took off his hat, its shadow had fused with the iguana, as if it was wearing it. The shadowy reptile spoke in a voice of innocence: "Time to find an opportunity today!"