Tilly: Steady, Rotor. One hill, one cake, and noon on the clock.
Rotor: Wind gust! The top tier is tilting eleven degrees! Should I panic?
Tilly: No panicking. Unstack it. Three tiers, three trips. You're quick as a kettle whistle.
Rotor: Recalculating... Three trips. Landing pad: lighthouse porch. ETA: eleven fifty-two.
Tilly: Good lad. Mind the gulls. Land soft as butter on warm toast.
Rotor: Tier two delivered! Tier one... gull! Shoo! Delivered! Not a crumb lost.
Tilly: Then take the candles and yourself up last, slow and proud.
Rotor: All tiers assembled! The keeper says it's the finest she's ever seen!
Tilly: And you, first flight, first delivery, not one crumb dropped.
Rotor: The keeper named a cupcake Rotor's Ration for me. Best morning ever.