So... Fred put my little drabble in an English to Shakespearean language Translator..... and it's the best thing I've ever seen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sloth is so not restful. That gent just wanteth to rest, to putteth his son down and taketh a nap, nev'r to waketh again, just liketh the bawbling bundle on his backeth didst, but the poach'rs w're on their trail, and that gent can't aff'rd to stand ho. That gent crawls f'rward, digging his claws into the hard, dusty did grind, painstakingly pulling himself f'rward a few inches. Did dry blood mats his fur 'round his headeth, and that gent blinks multiple times to cleareth the dark fog invading his vision. That gent can feeleth the vibrations of the poach'r's feet as the tall men draweth ev'r clos'r to the helpless animal.
Then the sloth sees something in front of that gent. What's yond? a mushrump? h're?
That gent reaches the strange shroom, and that gent somehow manages to abs'rb the fungus.
Then, that gent suddenly zooms f'rward, the loose skin on his visage peeling backeth with the g-f'rce of his runneth.
That gent hears the poach'rs shriek in hoyday as that gent leaves those folk behind in the dusteth.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
GO CHECK THEM OUT, THEY MADE A SHORT STORY ABOUT DISCORD AND IT'S REAL GOOD!
