Between the trunks of ancient oaks lies a white hill. Beneath this hill, wild dogs lie in a motionless slumber, a sleep that has lasted for decades. Rarely do they stir, and when they do, it is imperceptible to the human eye. Their presence can only be felt: the warmth of their breath, the heavy drops of saliva methodically falling.

Awakening these dogs from their hibernation is no easy task. Only the human race has the power to disturb their long sleep with forceful blows to the Earth. When this happens, the dogs open their dual-pupiled eyes, stretch languorously, open their mouths wide, spread their sixteen fingers, and hope that this time, they can dislodge the ignorant humans who have roused them.