By still waters where dark horses and black sheep rock to the rhythm of another beat
My niece is dedicatedly staying up until midnight to watch the ball drop in Times Square and hear me blow the conch from my parents' front steps. She curled up with me and
spatch on the sheepskin in front of the fire my father built; she showed me how her newest dragon falls with his wings tightly closed against his body and then snaps them out at the last minute to catch the updraft and soar away. From the way she was curling back over my arms, my mother asked if she could do a backbend, and when she didn't know how, I showed her and she did eight in a row. I braided her hair to keep it out of her face and then she wanted to see my hair in different styles. The following results were actually created by my mother, but I record them for posterity.

It is not the worst way to see the year out. A safe one, all.

It is not the worst way to see the year out. A safe one, all.

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(You can shoot and I can fight on horseback! We could live through at least twenty minutes of the Hundred Years' War! But let's not! Hey, 2021, forget I said anything!)
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I thought we were still nested in
(You can shoot and I can fight on horseback! We could live through at least twenty minutes of the Hundred Years' War! But let's not! Hey, 2021, forget I said anything!)
Do you think it would be safer to be 75% of a nomadic steppe culture or are we just now really tempting fate?
no subject
You speak Massagetaean, right? Or at least you know a couple epics in Scytho-Sarmatian? We'll be fiiiiiine.