The shoreline of the Custard Sea is warm and quiet.
Golden waves of thick custard roll slowly against the rocks below the Butter Cliffs. The sand smells like vanilla and caramel.
Near the waterline sits something wonderful.
A pile of brioche buns.
Perfect ones.
Round.
Golden.
Soft.
You look around.
No bakery.
No baker.
Just an abandoned pile of warm brioche sitting in the sand.
Lucky day.
You reach for one.
The pile moves.
Not much.
Just a little shuffle.
Sideways.
Every single bun suddenly sprouts small pastry legs.
The entire pile of brioche begins scuttling sideways across the beach.
Dozens of tiny buttery claws wave nervously You stare at it confused.
One crabrioche raises a claw.
"You wonder why, don't you? Why we cannot go forward. We wonder too."
Another replies from the pile.
"We have never gone forward."
A third sighs.
"This is the tragedy of our species."
Pause then...
"We have a problem."
Another adds.
"We always have a problem."
The first crabrioche gestures toward the horizon.
"We would like to go there."
Silence.
"We cannot."
The whole colony stops moving and turns their little pastry eyes toward you.
"You appear to master Forwardness. Teach us. Please.*