Grug The Croods Novels & Stories

Most of the more intelligent croogwijs would opt to flee from Orbin then to fight him only to die. The brothers Orbin and Primuh were tasked as tenders for the different types of Croogwijs. Most were similar to dinosaurs; some were similar to giant insects. It was an unwritten rule: Croogwijs that end up tussling with the guardians of the forests should not be given the chance to live and must die. They had reached a clearing now, after the clearing was a huge deep trench: Rainbow coloured vapours were emitting from that trench. On the other side of the trench was a neat clearing with a lawn. Further away was a mountain. The Vapour trench ran all the way around that mountain.

Aunt Drucella says, pushing the book in front of me. I stare at the picture in front of me. A creature, built like a man, with the head of a wolf covered in scales with tiny furry hairs sprouting from its hedges. A primate with claws instead of fingers. I still can't understand. “What am I staring at?” “A Monogroth, A creature of darkness magic, created by Behemoth. It was last seen during the great war.” Greg says. “And was killed by your ancestor,” Aunt Drucella added.

Out stepped a figure that defied description. He was seven feet tall but hunched over so severely his knuckles grazed the ground. His skin was gray and patchy, covered in coarse hair. His face was elongated, rat-like, with yellow eyes and teeth that were too big for his mouth. He wore a tattered security uniform jacket that was sizes too small, adorned with bottle caps like medals. This was Grog. The leader. Behind him, dozens of other figures emerged. Some looked like him. Some had scales. Some had extra limbs. They were a carnival of mutations.

I took the laptop up to my room and closed the door behind me. I accessed my email and opened the John Gold file again. He was five foot ten inches, with light brown hair. He was short for a man and his personality showed his affliction. He had short man syndrome. He wasn’t in terrible shape but he could be in better shape. He was filthy rich, exclamation on the filthy part and the surprising factor, I was friends with his son, Robert Gold.