There was something wrong with the forest, something evil about it. The darkness of it seemed to close in around them as they made their way through. Spike had a feeling someone else was there and found himself reaching for his gun. It was with his cigarettes, back with body. The absence of his gun and the lack of nicotine were putting the cowboy on edge. Nearby, a twig snapped. His muscles tightened and his senses sharpened as the adrenaline began pumping. Fight-or-flee screamed his primal instinct, fight-or-flee-fight-or-flee-fight-or-flee-FIGHT! Suddenly, down from the trees flew a horrible monster. It was covered in green ooze and matted fur and had the wings of a bat. It had the head of a man with the fangs of a snake. The thing screamed with the voice of angered furies and its very hide reeked of blood and death. Its claws were black, shiny and sharp as razors. "What the hell is that thing?" exclaimed Spike, jumping back.

"It is a snarr, and a hungry one at that," answered Gilbert, waving his cane at it. The thing growled at the two travelers and licked its yellow, needle sharp teeth. "Shoo! Go away now!"

The snarr refused to back down and it's blood-red eyes fixed on Spike hungrily, it's mouth accumulating disgusting white foam. It charged the cowboy without warning, but was deterred by a swift kick to the head. No longer interested in the cowboy, the monster decided to go after Gilbert instead. "Oh no you don't!" exclaimed Spike, tackling it, "We're not done yet!" He put it in a chokehold, cutting the oxygen off from its tiny brain. It struggled but slowly lost consciousness.

"Is it dead?" asked the old man, poking the fallen beast with his cane.

"No, but it'll wish it was, when it wakes up with the headache that's coming."

The two continued on through the forest, which had suddenly become much less intimidating. "You told me you needed an audience with the Dream King," said Gilbert casually, "May I be permitted to ask why?"

"My friend is sick or in a coma or something like that. I have to talk to the Dream King about it."

"Asking favors of the Dream King is not the wisest of decisions."

"It's not like I have a choice, Gilbert, Old Man Bull told me what I have to do."

Soon they were out of the forest and the castle of the Dream King loomed in the distance. It was made of white marble and towers soared up from it. The sun shined down on it and it was truly picturesque, sitting up on a grassy hill. Around the gate roosted its three guards, a gryphon, a wyvern, and a hippogriff. "Halt," ordered the hippogriff, "Who goes there?"

"It is I, Fiddler's Green and the bounty hunter, Spike Spiegel.

"You are a friend and always welcome here, and the bounty hunter is expected by the Master."

"Uh, thanks, I think." Said the cowboy, hesitant to continue.

Gilbert forged on as he always did. "Come along young Spike," he said cheerfully, "we have been granted entrance!"