Courage’s teeth chattered, but his legs wouldn't run. His eyes climbed the towering figure that now loomed behind the stone: Ramses, king of a dynasty of dread, his gilded beard cracked, his painted eyes weeping black resin. He didn't move so much as unfold —joints creaking like a sarcophagus lid.
He screamed. Ran in a tiny circle. Then, trembling whisker by whisker, he marched past the locusts, past the decaying god, and snatched the slab from the yard. He dragged it toward the road, nails squeaking on stone, while Ramses watched with eyes older than Egypt. courage the cowardly dog ramses
So Courage did what Courage always did.