Once upon a time, there was a man named Tim. Now, Tim was short in multiple senses. Three, to be exact. His name, Tim, was short for Timoolra; he himself was not exactly very tall; and he was short on change. And so, he exited his home, rolling aside the stone that capped his small cave under the wall and striding into the sun.

As he saw it, he flinched, looking up at the sun, one he hadn’t seen before in his life. He stared up at it, giggling. Tim leapt at the sun, attempting to kindly remind it that some people hurt their eyes.

Tim fell flat on his twisted back. Giggling, Tim continued on. He was still short in too many senses. He arrived at the town, ignoring various screaming and fleeing townsfolk. When one poked him with a pitchfork, he gently reminded the townsfolk that there are sharper things than a pitchfork.

Tim continued on, giggling at no-one in particular. He looked to a nice enough shopkeeper, who seemed to be quivering. Such a strange person. Tim kindly asked the shopkeeper for some money. The shopkeeper refused, so Tim gently reminded the not-so-nice shopkeeper that he needed money, using a knife to illustrate his point.

Not too long afterwards, the not/so-nice shopkeeper gave him bags filled with a heavy coin, begging Tim to leave. Tim left, though not before reminding the shopkeeper of the fragile nature of the human body.

Gleefully, Tim giggled as he rolled the stone aside from the wall and returned to his little cave.