So as to be a compleat conundrum of myself, wild-haired, brawny backed.
What about the time and the sequins it took?
A hand to a mouth, a hen to a cage to a fox's teeth in the snow.
The bloodsnow. The bloodmoss.
Dried it all up, disappeared with the spring abloom with chrism flowers.
White flesh seasoned with the salt left over from evaporation.
This is all as it was heard post-mortem.
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