The liger was lowered down by his falcon friends who were kind enough to give him a ride from Africa to Spain. They landed on a nice beach; mahogany sand sprayed out under the incredible flapping power of the 30 or so falcons that gave Mr. Liger a ride to Spain. Mr. Liger stood on the beach and watched the falcons fly off back to their home somewhere in Africa. Once out of sight he went on his way to see the wonders of Spain, soccer, art, music, architecture, history, and the likes. He proceeded north from the coast on the southern part of Spain, he continued till he came to a nice road, now surely there were roads in Africa but none like this one, it was black, and hard, and did not feel like the surrounding dirt, the road that lay before him was very foreign and new to him, and he liked it. He followed the road for quite some time, looking at the weird lines that were magically fused to the surface of the road. Several times large metallic creatures came roaring at him, each one moved out of his way, one even went off the road and into a ditch, later when he looked back at it, it was a billowing tower of smoke and flames.

Mr. Liger continued on the road until night, he stopped to sleep. He continued the next day along the road. After a short while he came to a town. He wandered the streets and alleys of the town; he saw hardly any signs of life until later in the day. Around noon he came across a human opening his store. Mr. Liger approached the man.

“Hello, I’m Mr. Liger, I come from Africa,” growled Mr. Liger.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” yelled the man, and he ran off because he couldn’t understand liger, it’s too hard to understand because the language has qualities of both lion and tiger dialects.

Mr. Liger was appalled by his rudeness and promptly left the town for a place that was nicer, and had better manners. He continued along the road. His journeys were filled with excitement and glory, if he could go home he’d be telling stories of defeating giant powerful metal beasts and being able to drink their blood, which later made him very sick, but he wouldn’t tell his friends and family about that. He came to a larger town; he would even call it a city. He arrived later in the day and when he got there the place was bustling. People were moving about and having a jolly good time. He roamed the town and felt the king of the jungle that he half was. People were fleeing his path and moving out of his way every where he went. He saw buildings built long before he was born, priceless pieces of art and magnificent and grand buildings. He was just leaving when a large very square and boxy beast approached him. It stopped just short of 30 yards away. A person got out, went to the back and brought out a nice looking stick, very straight and quite shiny. He pointed one end of the stick at Mr. Liger.

“Hello, I’m Mr. Liger, that’s a nice looking stick you got there.” meowed Mr. Liger.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” yelled the man with the stick, and with that his finger moved, a flash and very loud bang, and Mr. Liger fell to the ground with no sound lest the soft thud of his heavy masculine body hitting the road beneath him. His body was dragged away and sent off to Africa where the locals sacrificed his body in the appropriate manner: a barbecue for a famous tribe. And here ends the adventures of Mr. Liger, and his journey through Spain.