Clard looked out at the peninsula with a musing grunt as he raised the sail and fastened the deck stirrups to the larboard hatchwheel. He could no longer see the shore, and reckoned that he must be nowhere near the sea. Soon enough, time passed, and with it, space. Clard wasn't sure how much time or space, or even which was which. How long had it been, Clard wondered with a curious grunt. A few seconds? Infinity? He wasn't sure anymore.
Clard awoke with a tired grunt and realized that his camel had accidentally died. He quickly dismounted and limped away toward a nearby temple.
As Clard limped, he noticed with a surprised grunt that this peninsula was inhabited by bats. At first the bats were attractive enough--sleek, blackish-brown fur and fine leathery skin which shone when the sun caught it at the right angle; small, blind eyes full of hope and promise for the future, and small, perfectly formed ivory white teeth.
But as Clard's limping brought him closer to the temple, the bats began to look tired and bitter. Their eyes were photo albums filled with defeat. The wings were dull and limp, and some had scars or graffiti, or even bites taken out of them. The fur was gnarled and untamed, and a repulsive calico blend which reminded Clard of dirty vomit.
Clard emitted a sickened grunt as he entered the temple and stared about him. Old half-dead bats missing all their eyes and teeth rolled about in grimy fuscia wheelchairs and winked at him as repulsive half bat/half laundry mixtures with only torn bits of dangling flesh for wings shuffled past him. Many of the bats wore thick glasses, and none of them were in fashion. Clard could not contain his repulsed grunting as he limped down the darkened hallway in terror, as the bats slowly became more and more repulsive.
Amid a slew of vomit-filled grunts Clard stumbled into a large circular room. There, in the centre of the room, on that chair there, Clard saw the most grotesque bat he had ever seen. A puss-filled ooze poured out of his festering sores of eyes as vile blackish-mauve blood frothed disgustingly inside his transparent skin. His wings were... well, let it just suffice to say that everything about him was really icky.
Clard expressed all of this (and so much more) in a deep, heartfelt grunt as the grotesque bat began to explain. "We're just a bunch of really ugly bats," explained the grotesque bat. Clard replied with an understanding grunt as he tenderly cradled the grotesque bat in his loving arms. The wedding was well attended.