"What the hell was that!?" It was rare to see Boohaush, the old shaman boofalo living in the depths of the Boggy Hinterlands, get jolted by anything at all. He made haste from his solitary cabin in the marshlands to inspect the source of this racket not too far from his dwelling. There was an other-worldly echo to the sound, that he knew, for he was no stranger to the dimensions that expand and contract beyond the sight and sense of regular Moolanders. All of the surrounding area was coated in the muck and mud and slime that had splashed in all directions from the crash. Even the southern wall of his cabin had turned into a piece of abstract art.