Burt and Beyond. (Part 2)

Watch Your Step.

After Montgomery Cheeseboard had kindly taken Burt around the race course a few times, he'd dropped him off at what he had called, "The furthest place I can go, old chap."
Which, of course, meant the back of the stables.
The climb up and down the various mountains of straw had been ruthless, and as to why there hadn't been a base camp, or indeed Sherpas to help carry things was a mystery.
At the bottom of the last downward climb, Burt lost his footing and tripped, yelling with unexpected fear; a strange concept really, a slug that tripped, how exactly will remain suspicious for all of time.
Burt clung to the underside of his foot, becoming something of a sticky ball, rolling faster and faster. He bashed off sticks, bounced off branch's and bounged off brambles. And, possibly unthankfully, went splosh in a small stream that ran one side of the racing ground.
"Ahhh" Burt cried as he bobbed up and down in the current. His arms flung wildly like a drowning slug. He was indeed a drowning slug, so at the very least he didn't look silly.
"Help me!"
A small fish spotted Burt as it swam with its friends along the stream floor.
"Look Rod, look what that slugs doing."
"Pff" Rob scoffed, "bloody tourists..."