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In the magical land of Toosuiter, Butane worked his small garden. He worked with his little digging stick clearing the patch of eternal rock that seemed to multiply from one season to the next. Then he'd sing the little redundant ditty: "Little poke here, little seed there, little poke here, little seed there."
He planted his seeds and delicately covered them up with the fresh fertile earth. Yams were a delicacy. They really "tasted good" with the fresh meat that Pamela, his wife, would hunt in the surrounding forest. It was a magical life, and the land and the forest provided everything.