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Sans sighed, or did the magic skeleton equivalent of one, today had been a long day of sitting around and failing to catch a human.
Off in the distance he could hear Papyrus' boots stomping in the snow, likely his brother doing his best to scare off that couch surfing puppy that likes to hide in their cupboards.
Sans let out another sigh, oh what he'd do for a hot dog right about now.
Just as Sans was about to let out a third consecutive sigh in a row, he was smaked in the face by a mysterious leaf.
Now this wasn't just any leaf, no. It was green! Of course Sans has seen green leaves before, but this was Snowdin (Snowden?)! The only leaves around for and unknown amount of units of lenght are from pinetrees, and those are all pine needles. Not very nice face smacking material.
Nontheless, a leaf. The kind one would see in a kids drawing, somehow it has a leathery feel to it. Maybe Mt. Ebott is acutally cituated around the Mediterranean, how would Sans know.
Nontheless, a second time. Sans picks up the leathery little leaf and tries to look around, not a Soul in sight to whom this leaf could belong to. Of course there's a little yellow flower hidden behind a tree 20 bunny-hops away, but everyone knows that yellow flowers don't have Souls.
Sans sighs, again. He leans back, and then with a mighty hop, grunts his way out of his chair.
'Might as well look around and see if one of the kids did this', Sans thinks as he suffles out of his stand.
Shimmying around the quite inconviniently placed lamp, Sans starts to look around. No-one on the stand, no-one in the moat under the gated brige, and no-one behind the thick cousin-to-pinetress-but-they-aren't-pinetrees-but-Sans-only-knows-their-name-in-not-english trees.
A fifth sigh leaves Sans' teeth. Whoever could've lost this little leaf?
(The menacing snickers from the little yellow flower without a Soul stay ignored. For why should one listen to something without One?)
Just as Sans is ready to give up and move on with his day, he feels a second little leaf land in his hood.
"Now this is just getting ridiculous!" Sans bellows, quite quietly really, Jerry 284 bunny hops away doesn't even hear it. And Jerry has very good hearing.
Sans turns around, intending to catch the little leaf leaver. Only to be met with what could only be described as a quaint little path, made by someone quite little. Looking around he could see no candidates for this act, only a Soulless little flower could be seen. And as we know, why would you acknowledge something without a Soul.
Sans placed a foot forward, and another after that. He continued to do so until he was well inside of the thicket of trees. If Sans were to turn around, he would make the observation of the path not existing behind him anymore. Quite the curious sight that'd be.
Approximately sevenhundred-and-sxityfour bunnyhops later, Sans has found his way into a clearing. Along his not-so-little walk he has been able to aquier three more little leaves, each of a notably similar leathery make.
In the clearing more leaves litter the ground. Mixed in among the leaves is a powedery substance one would not even look twice at, were they to find it in a fireplace. Alas, this is not a fireplace.
Sans carefully suffles forward into the clearing. The path he took has long shut behind him, and he knows this. The only thing behind him is a little yellow flower, but as it does not possess a Soul, it does not matter.
One step infront of the other, some longer than others and some shorter than those not, yet always a same distance moved. Or was it the other way around? One step infornt of the other, some the same lenght as the ones before and also as so, yet a different distance traveled.
Sans stops are his feet land him at the middle of the clearing, his slippers will need a good thumping when he gets home. Before him lays an old rock, it's not a special rock by anymeans. Quite an ordinary one. If one were too look at it for a while, one might be able to discern a face or 7 from it. Just like the rocks holding up Monster Kid's parents' mailbox, the clunky thing always looks to be on the verge of dying. Sans wonders why someone hasn't made more acsessible mailboxes for people without arms, just hitting the thing untill it opens has got to have gotten boring by now.
The rock with possibly more than 7 faces continues to sit there, as if waiting for something. Maybe it has seen something like this before.
Something giggles in the distance. It sounds like a snowman.
Sans takes a squat, squinting at the rock.
"I wonder if anyones' ever written a book only using the bubble font through the whole writing process?" A useless quesion, of course someone has.
Then Sans got bashed in the head by a flying rock named Anthony. It wasn't alive or anything, Flowey just threw it.