78
“Damn it, at this rate we’re gunna lose,” said Tyrone.
And then it happened right at that moment. A high-pitched sound came flowing out from somewhere. In a strange turn of events, the antlions receded back into the sand.
“What happened?”
<Phew, I made it in time. Thank goodness, thank goodness,> said a large mouse-like native Motavian wearing brown robes. In her hand she held a large flute.
“Oh, hey, you’re that Motavian Farmer from earlier!”
<This flute produces a sound that antlions hate. I’m happy that it was helpful for you.>
“Aww, you are such a sweetie!” Alisa hugged the Motavian Farmer.