Like she is just so huge and has big firm muscles and super soft hair but could totally crush you with arm… Hang on, this is really pulling focus. Rude.
Of course it is all about the love of music. And the feeling of sharing that with all those people! All of them... listening and looking at me….. Can’t live without it…
The horse-and-rider, she is not so simple as she makes herself to appear. She has a great love in her heart, this one.
First-from-the-Quiver "Quiver"
Ulmudun Zhanat, the cities His paradise. May we dwell in Nature from nature.
This young owl child, I have no desire whatsoever to eat him. Dirty as a beakless pigeon! This idiom not as effective when translated to Common.
Because of the compassion large as her rump, I do not believe she is hiding her brain for the evil reasons, the selfish reasons. No, no.
First-from-the-Quiver "Quiver"
May we stay dry beneath your thousand Eaves, and should we find none, may the rain lick us clean.
I am cursed with greatest eyesight and I can see the cloud of mites and dander puffing off of this boy. He care for others so much that he neglects even the most basic hygiene.
Prism, they want to share their talent with the world, but they are young, and maybe too concerned with how the world receive it.
I think she keeps a secret because she fears a judgment someone will make. Take heart, horse-and-rider, this someone is not me.
First-from-the-Quiver "Quiver"
All things great begin small and many, and may yet become greater still. May we never grow so great that we forget.
They pounce on any new thing that their eye falls upon! But, their color gives them away, like the kitten who cannot control their tail.
I worry of the greatsword that follows everywhere behind him. I do not believe Stil is its keeper. I believe he is its prey.
Not so long ago I could not afford to loose a single bolt, unless I was certain to hit my mark. Even then I would have emptied my quiver to protect one like them.
My darling girl: my seeker. My rough&wild nut w/ a soft-shell. My tree that does not bend in the wind, whose roots clutch at strange dirt.
My oaf which is not, the flicker who shines brightest. One need only cast gaze around&about to see birds&beasts for whom morals carry no water; you, precious sun, are no better or worse.
Oh, mirror, how I long to glimpse a face I do not know. Show me the clean-self, the forgetting, the onward march of time:I tire of waiting.
My shifting one, friend of friends, long in tooth&mad with age and much knowledge. Of darkness you know, but not of shadow, of corners.
Redemption is a slippery fish in a moonlit sea; always I seem to glimpse it just before it wriggles, beneath&below, into the seductive void.
Have you turned yr gaze from earth to sky, like yr grandmother? Do you howl at the moon instead of to yr pack--filthy, feral, free?
