The D.A.W.G.Z.trudge up that old muddy hill, their boots heavy with caked earth. Winded and hungry, they reach the summit. Wiping the righteous sweat from their brows, they enjoy the vista of green undulating hills and trees, a few fair maidens rolling in the knee-high grass below.
A fleet of charcoal clouds storm the horizon. A single raindrop. And then another. A sheet of water falls across the fertile valley, hurried by a westward wind. The maidens cover their heads and run for shelter.
All the D.A.W.G.Z can do lower their hats and descend their trail-less path. Maybe they'll catch up with those maidens. And then again, maybe not.