You make your way gradually down the winding bends of Merida's intestines. The large one wasn't too bad, though you could sense the growing gaseous contents as you continued onwards and upwards. Sooner or later, you thought, the Scottish princess had to fart. You grinned as you climbed upwards, finally exiting the large intestine and entering the small one. The small intestine, in contrast to the large intestine, was hot and slimy, occasionally expanding and retracting slightly to some hidden pulse of its own. You moved quickly, to avoid being devoured by the villi, and finally came to the end of the intestine and the beginning of the stomach.
You dove into the stomach acids, and were mildly surprised to find that they did not burn. You quickly swam to the top, and clambered on to a pile of mush -- semi-digested bits of bread, apples, cheeses -- and looked at the final part of the full tour -- the throat. The opening to Merida's esophagus was high above you in the darkness, and you had to figure out:
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