“I’ll grant you one wish, Turtle. One wish only.”
“I wish I could fly, thanks.”
One puff of smoke later, the Genie vanished. Waving his legs, Ted took off, slowly banking and weaving across the fields – magical.
Then: gunfire. Suddenly he realised that slow-moving flying turtles were indistinguishable from clay pigeons. He desperately hoped that the shotgun party were poor shots.
He heard an echo. “One wish only...”