Skratch the Cat threw his paws in the air and a mighty boom shook the cavernous room. "My name is Lucy Fur!" he cried, "and I am the God of Hell Fire!" "He brings you fire," whispered the Wabbit. Skratch wheeled round ferociously. "Underlings, I apologise for my assistant, Soul Fur," said Skratch, "he is mercifully free from the ravages of intelligence." The Wabbit grinned and crept close to the fire. "Cold night, cold nose," he said inanely and clapped his paws. Skratch whirled back to address the cowed Euls. "I came for my winnings," he said. There was a murmuring and a whispering. "My winnings!" shouted Skratch. "Where's my winnings? I see no winnings! There's supposed to be winnings!" Skratch's shadow grew taller and taller. "Winnings, winnings, winnings!" he yelled and he jumped up and down. "Produce the winnings and we can all go home," said the Wabbit softly and he moved even closer to the fire. "I want my painting now," said Skratch in a dark, menacing tone. This time there was a terrible moan from the gathering. "Give me back my painting!" screeched Skratch and stamped and stamped. "He's not the devil, no cloven feet," shouted a Eul. "Oh, that's just an urban folk myth," said the Wabbit and he flicked something into the fire. "Upstairs Skratch!" he shouted as the room filled with fumes. "Smokin'" yelled Skratch.