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There was a life before the Plains, but Dorothy, though she tried, couldn't remember it. The girl hung up her blue and white checkered dress to dry on her bedpost. Uncle Henry clawed at the dirt with the hoe. Outside, Aunt Em sat on the floor next to the basin with the thrice used water as she scrubbed away lunch from the plates to prepare them for dinner. A cycle, a circle constantly turning. They rose, they worked, they ate, and then they slept, only to rise and work again. Dorothy in her small bed over by the window, Em and Henry in their larger bed on the other side of the room, the room that was their living room, kitchen and bedrooms all in one. The memory before this place where on a clear day you could see forever and. And nothing all at once on the endless Kansas horizons, was gone. But the life still remained in Dorothy for now. On the nights when she sat outside and helped Aunt Em with the stitching, glancing up to watch the heat lighting in the distance, she would sit and listen to the woman, the woman who had been, in her words, a pretty young wife. The sun and the wind and the endless toil had changed her, she said, not looking for Dorothy to respond, but to hear, as if the words themselves held some power, as if speaking of the past helped to fade a little more slowly. She had a spark in her eyes when she came here. The son took that Em didn't mind hard work. It wasn't the hard work. It was the constant work, the steady wearing down of the days and the years until she glanced in the mirror and didn't recognize the face looking back at her. On those nights she would talk about Uncle Henry, a good man, but with a heart as hard and as dry as the plains. He scratched each day for his living. If he ever knew Joy, it was before she knew him. He worked in silence from sunrise to sunset, came in, ate his dinner, and went to sleep. The only thing that gave Dorothy joy was Toto, the mutt that followed her home from town one day and who also didn't eat enough for Henry to protest. After hanging her dress, Dorothy pinned her hair back to get to work on cleaning. When she sighed, Aunt Em. The woman looked up and followed Dorothy's finger to the growing clouds. Rain? Dorothy asked, though she knew the answer. Aunt Em allowed the closest thing to a smile, as if the girl's optimism gave her hope. She shook her head. Cyclone Henry. She called out. The scratching at the dirt stopped and he swore. Okay, get to the cellar. I'll catch the horse and cow and stay in the barn. If I Can't make it back. Dorothy was transfixed by the cyclone. She could hear it already, a roaring God of the plains. A dust cloud the size of the nearest town heralded its arrival. Dorothy. Aunt Em called. She was already halfway into the cellar, cellar being a generous term for what was literally a five foot hole dug in the ground with a trapdoor that connected it to and separated it from the house. Dorothy hated crouching in it, Uncle Henry filling it with the ripe cauliflower smell of his breath and the memories of him stomping the rats in the hole each spring always fresh in her mind. The wind started to pick up outside. Dorothy now. Aunt Em said, before the wind slammed the trapdoor shut. Dorothy grabbed the handle, but Toto. She spun and saw his little black eyes into the bed. She scrambled over to him and the house lurched. Toto was more difficult to pull from under the bed than she had anticipated. Claus found every divot in the rough wood, but soon he was a shaking mass in her arms amid chairs and beds, beginning to tremble loose from their hard earned ruts, and she crawled to the trapdoor, flinging it open. She saw earth, but earth that was dozens of stories down. She saw the top of the barn where her uncle no doubt lay huddled. She saw Aunt Em now a speck doubled over in the hole, hands behind her head and arms covering her ears. Dorothy was in the sky. She panicked as, reeling, she dove back from the open hole, dodging a chair and catching a plate. She how was this possible? She was aloft in a cyclone. Her bed thankfully didn't move too far and soon everything stabilized. There was a lurch every now and then, but as long as she stayed on the floor or in the bed, it was fine. Like in everyday life. Her biggest danger here was boredom. She quickly amended that list when, sniffing around near the open hole, she the house shifted and Toto fell out. Dorothy shrieked and flung herself toward the opening, but was met by Toto's head peeking back through. She dared herself to look and saw that he was floating. She had never gone to school, and even though the prospect of a dog floating on air sounded as fun as it did, completely ridiculous. She scooped Toto from the sky, slammed the door shut, and set him down on the floor. Hours passed and day faded to night, but the roar of the wind continued all around her. Soon, though, she didn't even hear it. Dorothy dared to open the shutter and look out. She was among the clouds. She was Icarus, seeing what quite possibly no human before her had. It was very possible that when the cyclone finally died, she would be smashed against a mountain or drowned in the ocean. She laid down on her bed, not knowing what she would see when she woke, or rather, if she would wake up at all. Toto curled up beside her, and sleep took her from Jason and Carissa Weiser, creators of myths and legends. This is fictional light and birdsong. Dorothy gasped awake. Toto was already up and pawing at the door. It was still and quiet. She wasn't in the air anymore, and she was alive, looking around. The house was okay. The windows were shattered, and there was a crack up one of the sides. And the furniture, all six pieces of it, one table, two beds and three chairs was strewn about. But the house still had a roof and walls. Dorothy stood, walked over and opened the door. After her gray, dry home, she was in a forest teeming with life. Toto ran out among the trees, and Dorothy took it all in. A brook sparkled and beautiful flowers bloomed on each bank. The ground was soft and verdant. It was the exact opposite of everything she had ever known. She turned and people. Men standing behind her. She gasped, staggering backwards. There were three men, all about as tall as her, but far older. They wore blue hats, blue clothes and blue boots. Two had beards, and all of them looked delightful. There was a noise behind them, and they parted to reveal a woman. An older woman, dressed in white. She bowed before Dorothy. You are welcome, most noble sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. We are so grateful for you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the east and for setting our people free from bondage. She looked at Dorothy, evidently expecting an answer. I didn't kill anyone, I think. Kind of you to accuse me of that, though. Thanks. Sorry. Your house did then. Same thing, the woman said, and drawing Dorothy back to her home with the wave, showed the girl feet. Two feet sticking out from under the house, shod in silver shoes. Dorothy gasped and froze. Oh, that she was sorry. That was bad, right? Murder, at least. Manslaughter. She was the Wicked Witch of the East. She has kept the Munchkins in bondage for years. They were her slaves. Now they are free because of you. My house? Dorothy repeated, looking around. She was almost as much of a victim of the moving house as this poor woman here. She looked at these shriveled, dead feet, almost. She shook her head. What or who is a Munchkin? They're the people that live in this land, the little elderly woman said. The land the Wicked Witch of the east ruled. The woman said that she was the Witch of the North. I noticed that you didn't include the word wicked in that sentence, Dorothy pointed out. The woman smiled. She was a good witch. She wasn't as powerful as the Wicked Witch of the East. Here, read into that what you will, or else she would have freed them herself. So backing up, there are witches here? The woman nodded. Yes. 4. The north and South were good witches. East and west were bad. Now that she killed the Eastern witch, Dorothy's at her house that she wasn't driving. Also, who gets hit by a house? Really? Was she out walking in a cyclone? Now that she killed the Wicked Witch of the East? The woman in white continued. There was only one Wicked Witch left in the Land of Oz, which meant that with her there were only three witches left in Oz. Dorothy said Aunt Em told her the witches were dead years and years ago. The Good Witch smiled. Dorothy must come from a civilized land. In civilized lands, witches were all gone. Dorothy didn't want to broach the topic of just what happened to the suspected witches in the United States. She just nodded. The land of Oz has never been civilized. The Good Witch smiled. Dorothy looked at the clearly offended Munchkins who were just holding their tongues, but decided not to dwell on the good witches idea of civilization. Oh my gosh. One of the Munchkins turned and pointed to the corner of the house where the shoes were falling over. The feet inside them had been turned to dust. She was very old. She dried up quickly in the sun. The Good Witch smiled at one of her fellow witches crumbling to dust after being crushed to death by a falling house. Grimacing, Dorothy was beginning to wonder about the definition of good in this. Oz was it. But to one of the Munchkins vomiting as the Good Witch shook what remained of her estranged colleague's flesh from the silver shoes, Dorothy recoiled as the woman pressed them into her palms. The Witch in the east held those to be very precious to her. They were Dorothy's now. Dorothy turned and blew the witch bits out of the shoes. Oh, thanks. She turned and placed them inside her house to avoid touching those anymore. She really just needed to get home, back to Kansas. It was 1900, so she imagined she was somewhere out west, since everything east was pretty well known. Oh, you can't go east. One of the Munchkins spoke up. There's an impassable desert. Same to the south. The second Munchkin man spoke. Same for the west, where all the winkies lived. And the witch confirmed that indeed it was the same in her land in the north as well. The land of Oz was surrounded by desert. There was no way she was walking home. Dorothy looked around. Well, this land was too hilly for cyclones, and she couldn't count on that again. How was she going to get home? The witch shrugged. She imagined that Dorothy had to stay here with them. She could never go home. Dorothy sat down and began to weep. Never go home. Never return to her gray farm and her joyless aunt and uncle. This was terrible. The little old woman, the Good Witch of the north, had an idea. She took off her cap and balanced it on her nose. Dorothy, confused, looked up and wiped her eyes as the woman counted. One, two, three. At once the cap changed to a slate. A tiny chalkboard that read, Let Dorothy go to the City of Emeralds. Who's Dorothy? The woman shook her head. Dorothy stood. She was what was the City of Emeralds? The place you're going, apparently, the witch said, studying the slate. Wow, that was a strange thing. She wasn't going to explain at all. Perhaps Oz will help you, the woman said, tucking the slate into the bag at her side. Dorothy was still puzzled. Oz? Oh, he's the great wizard. This whole country is ruled by Oz. The Emerald City is at the exact center of the country. Is he a good man? Dorothy asked. He's a good wizard. I've never seen him, so I can't tell you anymore. You'll have to walk there, though. It's not a safe journey. Sure, she said. Sometimes the road was pleasant. Sometimes it was dark and terrible. Can you come with me and help? My house just killed one of your major adversaries, the woman said. Oh, she wished she could. Here, though. Here. She leaned in close and gave Dorothy a kiss on her forehead. Where her lips touched, Dorothy had a round, shining mark. The road to the Emerald City is paved with yellow bricks, so it's fairly hard to lose. Dorothy breathed deeply and nodded. Okay. The witch smiled. She said that Dorothy only needed to ask him. She had faith that the wizard would be able to help. Then, turning on her left heel three times, she disappeared. The three Munchkins who accompanied her nodded and wished Dorothy all the best before tromping off into the forest. And Dorothy was once again alone in this strange land. The good thing about having your house dropped in a foreign country is that you have your house and your entire kitchen right there. And while not brimming with food, it was more than enough for Dorothy's breakfast and more than she could carry on her trip. So after some bread and butter and a long drink of cool water from the stream, and changing into her blue and white gingham dress that somehow survived the winds. She was ready to go now, though. She looked on the shoes, the silver shoes that belonged to the corpse that was now the dust lining the bottom planks of her house. Silver shoes. Dorothy looked on her own leather ones with her toe poking out of the side. After she took the shoes down to the river and washed the witch out of them, and then washed them three more times, she put them on. It was like they were made for her. She found her pink sunbonnet, packed the basket full of bread, and left with Toto on the yellow brick road for the Emerald City. We'll see if Dorothy meets anyone along the way. Probably not, though. Definitely not. Weird companions whose very existence still confuses me. But that will be right after this. You must be a great sorceress, bok said, bringing Dorothy a bowl of soup. She had been walking for days at that point and her bread was already running low. A rich Munchkin was having a party to celebrate the death of their oppressor, as you do when Dorothy walked by. They insisted that she had to join, and when the Munchkin learned that she didn't have any place to sleep that night, he insisted that she stay. Now he was explaining to her what her dress meant. It's nice of you being a Munchkin sorceress, bok said, taking another bite of pie. She didn't understand blue and white. White's the color of the sorceresses. And blue was. He gestured to the blue house, his blue coat and his blue boots. Well, I mean, blue was the color of the Munchkins. How far is it to Oz? She asked the next day over breakfast. No one answered. The wizard, right? We don't know. I don't know. I've never met him. Never been there. Bok said it was a long way and you had to pass through many dangerous places. Dorothy thanked them for their hospitality and got back on the road. The day was a warm one, and the road took her past rows and rows of co. She stopped. No, that was impossible. Rows and rows of okay, you just winked at me. Dorothy barked at the scarecrow. No, I didn't. The scarecrow called back. Okay. You talk to The Scarecrow said yes, he thought. He hadn't really tried it yet. Was this it was talking the bit where the words on the inside became words on the outside? Yeah. Dorothy studied him. He looked like he was in pain. He pointed to his back, to the pole jutting up his back. He was stuck here on this fence post. Can I let you down? Dorothy asked, and the Scarecrow pointed. That was the type of thought he couldn't have because he didn't have any brains. Okay, well, let's just focus on one thing at a time here. Dorothy gave his shoulder a quick nudge and oh, he was actually super light. I'm made of straw. It's why I don't have any brains. Just straw, the Scarecrow said as Dorothy set him down on the ground. Why was Dorothy on the road? She explained the thing we absolutely do not need to repeat. But the story does. Don't worry. Do you think if I come with you to the wizard Oz, he could give me some brains? Dorothy said. She had really only learned about Oz very recently, so like two days ago, so maybe that was a possibility. He wanted to come. He could come if he wanted to. If Oz couldn't give him brains, he wouldn't be any worse off than he was right now. It's not bad mostly to be full of straw if someone bludgeons me or stabs me or beats me with a boot or an iron rod or punch. Okay, yes, I get it, Dorothy said. He couldn't be hurt. I'm not full of organs and fluids like you, the Scarecrow said. But he also wasn't full of brains. His head was straw. How would he ever know anything? I'm sorry. I'd really like to get home and I've been told that this wizard is how to get there. Maybe he can help you. You're welcome to come if you want. I have to go, though, Dorothy said, and the Scarecrow replied that he could keep pace easily. He couldn't get tired. She turned and continued down the yellow brick road. Let's talk about our fears, the Scarecrow said. No, Dorothy replied to the strange man stuffed with straw who was apparently functionally immortal. I'm afraid of a lighted match. The Scarecrow leaned in close to Dorothy's ear. She nodded. Okay, yeah, that track. Okay. Help me to understand, the Scarecrow said. Why would you want to return to Turn of the Century Kansas? You're talking about how it's all dry and gray and it sucked the joy from Aunt Em like I'm a talking bag of straw. And I understand this. You're the hero of this entire region. That's because you have no brains. Dorothy was really tired of talking about this, but she was also tired of stubbing her toe and stumbling on bricks. What was there no Munchkin Public Works? Why were there so many loose bricks here anyway? He couldn't understand, but she wanted to go home. The Scarecrow sighed at that. She was right. He was a fool for wanting to live in beautiful, nice places. It was a good thing for people like her with brains who wanted to live in dismal gray places like Kansas City, or else no one would live in the American Midwest, which, sidebar, by the way, is taking potshots at the Midwest. I assumed that L. Frank Baum lived here, and he did. When he was writing this book he lived in South Dakota and Chicago. So it only confirms my running theory that no one has a love hate relationship with the Midwest like those of us who grew up or live here. Hi, from Ohio. It's such an uncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool, the Scarecrow mused and looked to his feet, his shoes that until three days ago have been shoved in the back of a munchkin farmer's closet. Well, said Dorothy, let's go. And they did. They continued on the road passed into a forest. As they rested that night, the Scarecrow kept commenting how difficult it must be to be made of flesh, which Dorothy didn't like to think about. And this guy was really obsessed with brains and organs. They ate a quick breakfast. Well, Dorothy did remember that she was made of flesh and didn't just sit there all night staring off into the darkness, obsessing about her perceived inferiority. And as soon as they were about to continue on the road, a loud cry came up from the forest. At first Dorothy thought it was an animal, but Toto didn't seem to be alarmed. Then it happened again. They could both locate it and hear that it wasn't a snarl or a growl, but a groan. It was coming from the forest behind them. From a statue. Now we know that it isn't a statue, but a man made of tin. Even though statues can be in the shape of men and also be made of tin, we're gonna move on. Wait, did you groan? Dorothy asked the man made out of tin, his axe raised above his head. We're gonna fast forward a bit again where the tin woodman tells Dorothy about his oil can in the shed in his cottage and his rusted joints. Because while tin is resistant to rust from moisture, it can rust if it's tin plated iron. So let's assume that's what this is. She rushed inside the spartan cabin and returned with a can of oil. Where are your joints? She asked, looking down. Where human joints are. I'm like, wherever your body bends, put a little oil there. It's the same basic concept, the man said through clenched Teeth. Yeah, I grew up on a farm. Great job dunking on an orphaned child with no formal education, Dorothy said, and started oiling the man's joints, who seemed visibly relaxed. When he was finally blissfully able to set the axe down. He said that he might have been there forever if not for them. Not a lot of people come through this forest. What brought them through? We're gonna fast forward through the recap to the woodsman made out of tin, looking to the ground, and then to Dorothy. Did she think Oz could give him a heart? Dorothy said maybe she had already met one witch with the ability to do magic. Presumably the wizard didn't have a stockroom full of human organs. Yes, sure. Truly, she had no idea. Once again, it's like three days now that she knew about Oz. He could come with them though, if he wanted. As the pair walked, they quickly saw the utility of having an axe wielding woodcutter as part of the party. He was able to cut a tree that blocked the path and cut through brambles that grew in from the forest and threatened to scratch Dorothy. Or worse. He couldn't do anything about the holes though, or about Scarecrow walking directly in them. Why did you do that? The Tin Woodman asked as Dorothy lifted him from the hole with one arm. Oh, I have no brains, the Scarecrow said. The Tin Woodman had questions, but okay, sure. The Scarecrow explained his own motivations for the trip, and the Woodman said that while that was admirable, brains weren't the best thing in the world. The Scarecrow's painted face turned to study the woodman. Did the Tin man have brains? The Tin man knocked twice on his own head and a hollow sound emanated. Nope, none. His head was empty. But once he had brains and a heart of the two, he thought the heart was better. And why is that? The Scarecrow laughed at the obviously wrong man being wrong, not realizing he had just teed up a story. Because as they walked, the Tin Woodman told his tale. He had been born as a child named Nicholas Chopper. A human child. He was born to a woodcutter, and he would be a woodcutter himself someday. And he was. He was also quite lonely. So he decided that he would marry. He had his eyes. His human eyes. So the little squishy orb ones on a Munchkin girl he fancied and soon grew to love her with all of his heart. Loving him back. She. She pledged to marry him as soon as he had enough money to build a better house for her than the one that had served his family for generations. Sidebar I Jason might be a bit idealistic, but if you want to marry someone and they're like buy me more things first, that's a red flag. Definitely look for someone else who appreciates you for you, and not one that makes you work endlessly for a nicer house. When the person's adoptive mother hates that, she'll be losing the person who cooks and cleans for her and consults with a witch to murder you, that's also a bad sign. Offering the Wicked Witch of the east, or the WWE as no 1 has called her ever, and we probably shouldn't, due to various trademark restrictions offering her two sheep and a cow, the Wicked Witch of the east agreed to prevent the marriage with murder. Well, technically, mutilation that would probably result in murder. Nick Chopper, as he's named in the next book and retconned, raised his axe to cut the tree to build the house for the woman he loved, and it came down on his left leg, just as the Wicked Witch the East had planned, somehow managing to not pass out due to shock or blood loss, Nick wrapped a tourniquet around his leg and let's pretend he dragged himself to the next town like Daniel Plainview, having nothing but his willpower to keep him alive. Because that's gritty and realistic. And even though I want to stay tonally consistent with the first part of this episode, it's really difficult. Because what's not gritty and realistic is that he had his leg, which had been cut off at the hip, replaced with one made out of tin at the tinsmith. Now, we all make bad decisions sometimes, continuing to use the axe that has relentlessly chopped off not only both of your legs, but both of your arms one by one, necessitating them all to be crafted and replaced by a local tinsmith. That's frankly, on another level. At some point it begins to feel like Nick Chopper starts to bear some responsibility for the axe that keeps amputating appendages. Luckily, the tinsmith was nearby the day Nick Chopper's axe flew from his tin hands and chopped off his own head. I like to think that the tinsmith was there because there were only so many things left he could replace with tin, and Nick couldn't drag his own head and half ting corpse to the tin maker. Besides, I mean, really, Nick was putting the tinmaker's kids through whatever the Oz version of college was. And I know I'm thinking the same thing, but we definitely can't say it or even imply it because copyright infringement. So I'm not gonna do either of those things. She is pretty evil, referring to the witch and looking at the camera with a wink as he pulled a fully crafted tin head from his bag. And this is, like I said, a really tough story. Tonally, I started out in love with the exploration of US Midwestern despair at the turn of the 20th century on the part of Dorothy and her family. And I tried to touch on the Scarecrow's inferiority complex and his obsession with human organs. But the Tin Woodman's portion feels very myths and legends. There's no way around the horror blending into ridiculousness of a man continuing to chop off his own arms, legs and even head, only to have them inexplicably replaced with tin. I would do a deep dive on how the body would react to a tin prosthetic and if that would result in tin poisoning, with the definitive answer being a resounding it depends on the alloys and such. But honestly, it's not worth it because the story's not super concerned with realism Here, the most damaging injury of all to Nick Chopper, whose last name actually functions as both a noun and a verb because he's of the Chopper family and he's also a Nick Chopper. Given all the inadvertent self inflicted he had given himself. Well, his greatest loss was his heart. He thought that he was invincible, having replaced his limbs and head with tin. Not sure why he would think that he still had the middle part, the squishiest part of all, with the organs, of course. His axe slipped, turned around midair and drove down with such force that it cut Nick in half, very much straining the definition of the word slipped. And so he died. Just kidding. The tin maker was there because money and he was ready with a new tin body. But that body didn't have a heart. Nick, AKA the Tin Woodman, said so. I didn't love my wonderful munchkin fiance and I didn't care if I married her or not. My only care was the rain, knowing my joints would rust. A year ago I was caught in a thunderstorm on this very spot and began to rust. Yes, I was trapped here for a year. And in that year I had time to think about the loss of my heart. When I had love, I was the happiest man on earth, except for all the cutting off of my arms and stuff. The Tin Woodman's side. So no organs at all in there. The Scarecrow's unblinking eyes studied the Tin Woodman's body. All the same, he Would take brains, not a heart, for a fool would not know what to do with a heart, even if he had one. Dorothy, for her part, pushed ahead with Toto. She could feel the pack growing light at her side, and unlike her new metal and straw companions, she needed to eat. That is, as long as something didn't eat her first. A thought that was on her mind when a roar came from the forest. It happened in a flash. First it came for the scarecrow, pouncing and taking him to the ground before leaping to the tin woodman, who, though it couldn't wound him, sent him spinning and dropping. Dorothy could see it clearly right before it lunged at Toto. It was a lion, and Toto was not putting up with any of this, not aware of any size difference between himself and a full grown lion. Toto charged right as the lion turned his direction. But someone stood in his way, maybe feeling like her home was slipping away and that she would be unmoored, lost forever in this strange land of witches and talking straw people and guys chopping off their own limbs and having. Having them replaced by tin. Or maybe just bolstered by the fact that she loved her dog. Thinking or no, Dorothy stepped in between her dog and the lion and having only her bag, swatted the beast on the nose. Ow. The lion cried out, rubbing his nose with a paw. How dare you bite Toto. Dorothy screamed. I don't know what a Toto is. The lion cried. My dog. Dorothy pointed. I didn't. But you were about to. Dorothy crossed her arms. Yeah, but I didn't. The lion said. Ow. Wait, how are you talking? I don't know. I just think words and they come out. How do you talk? The lion said, and then realized that they weren't yelling anymore. Dorothy called Toto back to herself and he returned to her side, growling and warning to the lion as Dorothy helped the scarecrow to his feet, him collecting his straw and stuffing it back in his body. But it's best to not think about those details too much. And attacking a man stuffed with straw. Dorothy exhaled sharply, which I definitely knew. The lion smiled on the other one. Is he stuffed? Dorothy shook her head. He's. No, he's 10. The beast looked at his claws. That explained the horrid feeling he got when his claws scraped the body and why it blunted them a bit. He shivered in remembrance. And that thing that Toto, is that. Is he straw or metal? No, he's made out of meat. He's a meat dog. Dorothy actually says in the original. And frankly, she was Thinking that the lion was a little disgraceful. What big, brave king of the beasts would bite such a small animal? The lion broke. Yes, okay, yes. He was a coward. He went for the meat dog because it was the smallest, easiest prey, despite that being a thing all animal hunters do all the time. But for him, everyone expected him to be this great, courageous, brave ruler. He was the king of the beasts. Whenever he roared, people got out of his way. Everyone, everything got out of his way. He let them go, too, because he was so afraid. Dorothy winced. Here would be a good point to say that everyone feels afraid, even those who seem big and strong sometimes. Especially those who seem big and strong and courageous. It's okay to feel fear and anxiety, you know, it's normal. And sometimes you just have to work through those feelings. This was 1901, though, and they had some differing thoughts on those sorts of things. Wow. Dorothy looked away. That isn't right that the king of the beasts should be a king. Coward. The lion broke down. He knew. He took his tail and began wiping a tear. It was his great sorrow, his great shame. Whenever he was in danger, his heart began to beat fast. No one chimed in to say that that's what happens to absolutely everyone when they were in danger and he wasn't alone. The best they could do, empathy wise, was the tin woodman saying, at least the lion had a heart. He didn't. That's why he was going to Oz, the great wizard, so that he could get one. We won't go through it yet again. But the lion asked if he thought the great wizard might be able to get him courage so that he might not be afraid anymore. Dorothy looked on the party. She supposed it was as likely as the wizard giving the scarecrow a brain with a tin woodman a heart, or she looked at the sky, or getting her home. To her, all seemed equally likely, that is to say, equally impossible. And she feared that she would be trapped in this land, this place where men could cut off their limbs and survive and lions could live their entire lives not processing their psychological issues, and scarecrows could long for human organs. She feared she would be trapped in this place forever. That's where we're going to leave things. We'll see what happens when they make it to the Emerald City and then start that fateful journey West. Part two of our adaptation of the Wonderful wizard of Oz will be in two weeks. Fictionals by Jason and Carissa Weiser Today's episode was adapted from the Wonderful wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum. Our theme song is by the amazing Breakmaster Cylinder. And there is a list of even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thanks for listening and we'll see you next time.