Then the locusts came. Not buzzing— whispering .
Because courage isn't the absence of fear. It’s being terrified of a two-ton undead pharaoh and still returning the slab.
Courage looked at the house. Muriel was humming inside, unaware. Eustace was probably napping with his mask on. Neither of them had touched the slab. Neither of them remembered the traveling salesman who’d left it last Tuesday, carved with a curse in a language Courage could read perfectly—because fear, he’d long ago learned, is a universal translator.