Rock Biter: A delicious-looking limestone rock. Mmm! Mmm! Nice bouquet. Must be a real vintage year. Night Hob: [laughs nervously] Yes, you're right. Those delicious rocks are the reason we camped here, all right. Night Hob: [to Teeny Weeny] Is he a ...
Rock Biter: Where-where-where I come from in the North, we used to have exquisite gourmet rocks. Only now... now, they're all gone. Night Hob: I know how it happened. Rock Biter: Oh, I - I *swear* it wasn't me! Night Hob: Oh, heck, no!
Bastian: No, not again. No, not again!
