My story begins one sunny summer’s afternoon, with Croaky the fog sitting on his favourite lily pad, enjoying the sun while lying in wait for a dainty morsel to catch. Watching the flies buzzing to and fro across the pond, hoping that one of them landed nearby, or at least slowed down enough, to allow him an opportunity to secure his next meal, Croaky sat perfectly still. But there were so many flies flitting around, Croaky didn’t know which of them to watch let alone catch. Then he heard a sound, a low droning buzz, quite different to the usual insect sounds that he had become accustomed to hearing. This new one was an altogether more courser sound. Tilting his head over to one side, Croaky tried to hear it clearer. It was a fly, he was quite certain of that, but so different from any that he had up until then heard. The sound grew louder and louder, so loud Croaky imagined it must be the mother of all flies coming his way. His stomach growled in anticipation of the wonderful meal heading towards him...
