© americanifesto / 場黑麥
We received an invite a solemn request to come join the forces now fighting Daesh. The head of all Syria, Assad, his name, did ask that we help him to remove the stain that spread from the ruins of Saddam's Iraq that threatens us heathens with steady attack. Not far from our borders these terrorists kill and suckle at hatred's most foul-smelling swill and seek to reduce all that's been free of late under an immoral and strict caliphate. They are not real Muslims defend not their home but rather desire to reduce to bone and rubble and dust all they can't comprehend all that their weak egos does seem to offend. We've learned from the Kurds just what frightens them most and that is a well-armed and feminine host who we've now assembled from our defense forces who will head to battle on foot or on horses. They'll march into battle united as one a thousand proud daughters not one single son they'll bring to the front every ounce of their power and hound and abuse Daesh hour by hour. They'll dig attack-tunnels and show Daesh scum the strength of the wily Grigovian woman and tear out his eyeballs and stab out his liver and be hard death-merchants not tender life-givers. Once they are successful we'll send many more to pound at the caliphate's wall fence and door and mock him by singing bright songs from their youth and teaching him Islam's most enduring truth: that to kill an innocent soul body face is to kill every member of the human race that such evil actions do not go unseen but are met with justice swift merciless clean.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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From deep in our borders a strength does arise that against the forces of all darkness flies. It comes from the throats of man woman and child in warblings berserker shrill vapid and wild and sends many shivers down every spines of anyone who dares to cross o'er our lines. We stand independent from Ynki and Rus from enemies flagrant and those yet obtuse and ours is a mighty earth-shattering cry for we to the last man will throe fight and die. So heed ye this warning and meddle ye less in matters that are not your own business all foreign invaders much bent on empire who dare cross our sparsely-manned east or west wire. For we in Grigovia care for our own and want not for conflict that's financed or sown by shadowy figures from 'burg 'ville 'gorod who upon our sovereignty do seek to trod. We'll take in refugees from the Ynki wars and store them behind our own familys' doors but will not stand idly without due reply when cruel foreign devils our freedoms espy.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 A town in the making is well on its way where a mix of locals and refugees stay. We've planned all its contours to make it so that one can walk across in a half hour flat. There are but few roadways for a motor car, the rest they are made of stone pavers – not tar. The housing won't be more than four stories tall and gets much warm sunshine in winter and fall in the warmer months though it stays nice and cool and there are a number of small public pools. Such shops as one needs for to lead a good life sell foodstuff cloth hat shoe toothpaste soap and knife; they will accept barter or labor for goods will swap rice for garments or hand-tools for wood. To live there one must join a soviet crew to clean up a meadow or rake out a mew to maintain the sewage or help raise a barn to learn how to entertain with a spun yarn. A third of the people who'll live in this town escaped from such countries as war has torn down; two thirds are Grigovians gentle and kind who hold an humanity first in the mind. This is an experiment but we believe that with it we'll provide a welcome reprieve to people from within and those from without who have for too long yearned for such a redoubt. So come have a gander and do stay a while be ready to work and to wear a big smile for ours is a mixing pot crazy and real yet we all believe it's a pretty good deal.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 The Yaelong hold power their reach it is long their family systems are tight-meshed and strong. Long ago we'd quarrel o'er land and resources but quickly did learn to combine our small forces into some quick response and some quick action teams who crush all intruders by various means. Their guerrilla tactics we've much added to combining in lessons from Ho Chi Minh too and also from Mao and from Rommel to boot wherefore primed and ready is this armed offshoot. In truth though it makes up the bulk of our guard yet only emerges as a high trump card to mop up the damage done unto such fools who eschew good company's longstanding rules. From trench and from cupola alley and ditch with blood whipped up into a mad fever-pitch will every man woman child et ceterum stand up for to expel from home hearth and womb such Ynki Rus Kossak or Turkmeni brute who should dare on our precious soil set foot. Grigovian weapons and that Yaelong guile should help us keep hold on our freedom a while – for lest we get bombed out like the Nips once got there's nothing can move us from this awesome spot.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There's told of a wanderer Berber of birth who came to Grigovia spreading his mirth. He also spread Islam that still lives today but which we here practice in much our own way without dire enforcement of too many rules while still making use of its fine social tools. Yibin al Ba'huttah was the wise man's name, from far to the West of the sunset he came to share bizarre stories of lands set in snow and that place to which Muslim faithful must go. His goal was an empire far from our own (which he did call Qinku'ha) to make there his home and serve as a minister under its king and share with him ritual knowledge and teaching. If he ever made it we now do not know but were much heartbroken to then see him go in search of warm climates and fortune and glory that man who so brashly wrote his own life-story.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Her coming does dictate a turn in the weather that ends longest winter and brings forth the heather. Now look to the heavens and look to the east and set out a vast and appropriate feast to welcome the coming of this our dear star and see her suspended in inky black tar. Though food-stores are finished and coffers run dry her bright shining features up there in the sky say to us mere mortals down here down below that gone is the coldness and gone is the snow. When her light doth sparkle then rig up a plow attached to the back of the healthiest cow and dig now a furrow in line with her rise into which then plant all known seedling supplies. From this lonely tench-cut strong plants will arise and reach all their tentacles up to the skies and bring forth such bounty as will see us through until the next time her bright face shines anew.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 To celebrate victory in Ynkiland we break out the bubbly and strike up the band. For too long have all people there in the place lived under the jackboot of hatred for race and hatred for they who prefer the same sex – after this achievement what shall follow next? Will people of darker skin-tones than some others be treated as neighbors as sisters and brothers or will they still be sent to rot in dark cells in cruel private prisons in tightly-cramped hells? We ended our drug war in 1980 and now treat our addicts compassionately and now all our people all Grigovians can make up their own weekend drug-using plans without undue concern their doors will be smashed by mummified officers angry and brash. Huzzah for the homos – a battle they've won – and can now get married to most anyone who agrees to find joy and find happiness with other vagina with other penis. We'd made legal and normal long long ago the tendency of some of us to 'homo' indeed we passed laws back in 1905 that has kept selfsame-love healthy and alive. Well done then, Americans, but do not rest for this is the first of just many more tests to see if you can join the ranks of such nations that choose to make not war but love-celebrations.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 A garrisoned plenty of ten to fifth men does overwatch city and mountain and fen. Its weapons are wily its purpose is clear – to guard us from enemies foreign and near. Its symbols are ancient its rites they are true its colors are ocher green and a light blue for all such harm-seekers it does lie in wait from bright early morning to dark even late. Now join you this plenty now pledge you thine arm to keep from Grigovia threat worry harm to protect the homeland and keep us all free – huzzah for the Plenty of Ten and Fifty.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 The house of our abdicant non-royal fam is focused on helping build shelters and dams not increasing riches or waltzing about while kids in this world still go to sleep without. They live in apartments quite modest in size like any old cluster of regular guys like any old troupe gang army murder clan from this side of Nowhere to Afghanistan. We thank them for staying here within our fen and taking our cause up again and again and fighting for us here in Grigovia for arbor vox populi et patria. All their fine castles now house works of art and all of their efforts do twinge at the heart and buoy the spirit and make the hairs rise so lift up those features and open those eyes; tomorrow is a myth as is yesterday and all of one's life is just now and today.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Our borders pose refuge for all who must flee regardless of origin or enemy. We house them in our homes not outside in shacks nor ghettos nor abandoned apartment tracts. We believe in all humans' deep dignity that people contain more than you or I see that they are most righteous who are gave hope to drag themselves back up a slippery slope. Now our ranks are swelled with man woman and child come in from the dark and cold in from the wild they are now our brothers and our sister too we teach them the tricks that our grandmothers knew. They marry our siblings and start families of laughter and joy frolicked under the trees and fight with against the forces without that seek our high stronghold to harass and rout. Come one and all 'fugees come quickly anon and start a new future here under our sun and find hope once more in the love we've to give for here in our bosom a good life you'll live.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Our nomads still wander the Steppes in the south still living the ancient way – from hand to mouth. They drive herds of ungulates hither and fro and just where they'll rest tonight no one can know; their numbers are stable and healthy to boot for they eat leaf bug goat-meat soil and root. They'll cover a league or two every day their children know labor as well as some play they teach them to sew cook tend livestock and guard they teach them that life must not ever be hard. Their cousins the Yaelong were once nomads too but they chose to stay where the best foodstuffs grew and gave up their roaming and pastoral ways and moved into tree-forts and hollows and caves. With luck you can spot you a nomad or two but strap on some sturdy and good walking shoes for they do not wait for the tourist who lags or fiddles with his many camera bags. So come now come quickly and learn of their ken spend time with their wise elders women and men rejoice in their freedom wanderlust and skill in in dusty valley up on barren hill.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There stands in the middle of Krukuv Surround a small short unseemly well-kept earthen mound. Dug out at the founding of this our homeland by a pair of gentle industrious hands upon it grow blossoms of white orange blue – the first ones to spring up when Spring springs anew. 'Twas there that wise Grigov (Man Krukuv, of old) did first sink his spade into our lovely vold to dig out a place wherein to store his crop protected from wind rain and thick muddy slop. A tunnel he lifted within which to put great armfuls of tubers and wild beet-root then kept right on tunneling slowly anon until his bones wearied and his strength was gone. He took then a maiden of the Yaelong folk who bore him three children from her fertile yolk whom he set to digging in the earthen larder so that there'd have plenty should times they turn harder. And things then turned sour as he knew they would but they had deep piles of well-fermented food with which they sustained themselves happy and strong until better fortunes came strolling along. Please come soon and visit fine Krukuv Surround and marvel at what can be done underground when minds they are focused on one single task – on building a nation that this long could last.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Unearthed from some tundra in a mountain pass is a woolly rhino of world-stunning class, an albino specimen fully intact with food in her guts and with young in her tract. Her size is diminutive she is a dwarf and with righteous fanfare was moved to a wharf and transported quickly lest her tissues thaw and we lose the residues trapped in her maw. Once probed measured sequenced to the nth degree will her pelt and nashorn once more day's light see. It's true she was pregnant when her life did end way up by what's now called as the Sharp Northern Bend where our river Yalung does make a quick right in its snowed-in valley – a curious sight. A shepherd did spy her while out on the vold and knew in an instant that her bones were old and called up the b'andzar to tell of the find then set off a few vagrant lamb-chops to find. Eroded by currents of the nearby stream whose banks with all manner of artifacts teem a landslide exposed to the wildlife around what had until then been trapped in frozen ground. Genetic material pried from her chest will allow researchers her time-line to guess and possibly reveal what caused her to shrink so that from the cup of her secrets we drink. Come by when she's ready and look on her size and stare into her round and sorrowful eyes and learn of her past in the great snowy time before our own species did learn how to rhyme.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Long has she watched over fair Grigovia – our welcoming mother bright Ma'atronya. She holds to her bosom great bundles of wheat and full cornucopia lie at her feet and a healthy child sits there on her lap who looks like he'd just woken up from a nap. First mentioned in the ancient Edda of Grie from one thousand thirty and two B.C.E. her rein's not been shaken by harshness or drought or when there was bounty and plenty about. With blessings and mercy she comforts the weak and few are the comforting words that she speaks but when they are spoken they can't be unheard for hers are some lasting and powerful words. In every home altar she takes up a space she helps us our problems with fortitude face she helps us remember what we've long forgot – that none of our efforts are ever for naught. We praise and uplift her on every full moon for hers is a fertile mysterious womb where dream hope and passion do enter and stay and go grow to fruition with each passing day. On the equinoxes we praise her once more by draping bright garlands from window and door by hugging each other and passing out food to each needy mother to each vagrant dude. Come join in the warmness of this quiet mother who loves and protects us like no one no other in this land of happiness this patria whose glory endures thanks to Ma'atronya.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Come outside my lovelies there's warm in the air and green tufts of life all around – everywhere! Our Massif of Yiptlong is coming alive with bees now emerging from their high-hung hives and birds now returning from their winter keeps and young being born to goats bovines and sheeps. Man Winter is crawling back into his cave, his white wispy beard and his long gnarled stave are dragging behind him for he's been left weak from making the landscape cold barren and bleak. The goddess of Springtime has taken his stead and soon to Man Summer she'll surely be wed and then we'll all bake under his restless eye that hangs in a tepid and sweltering sky. With thoughts of hot evenings and of hotter nights we turn our attention to conquering fright and vanquishing worry and hunger and pain and waking up from frigid slumber again the deep burning fires that keep our souls bright that wrap us in dazzling and near-blinding light. Air out the bed linens and sweep off the stair and weave a wee tulip up into your hair; rejoice at the coming of times filled with joy for each one among us – old young girl and boy.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 She knew not to wait or to look for a sign and therefore just sat there and soon was aligned to energies inside and those from without while her soul did shine and her spirit did shout. Her mouth though was silent she said not a word and moved not for thunder man spider or bird and let the impressions of life all around impact on her being with wind-gust and sound. Such was her devotion to just sitting there that she soon developed a shock of white hair that hung as a forelock down over her face revealing a hint of her majestic grace. Goddesses took notice and moved her to shield and used all the craftiness that they could wield to shelter her body from torment and pest and prolong the life of she whom they loved best. Time did wear upon her after many years but she had abandoned her cares and her fears and stepped without knowing back into the void from whence she at birth had been duly deployed. She joined then the pantheon that none can see and guards all such people who sit silently as she herself once did while she was alive and helps all such people to advance and thrive who take time to step away from busy lives who display the courage deep within to dive.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 The virus made use of our customs and trade its inroads and success were too quickly made until a small council of wise people met to examine options we'd not thought of yet. This occurred way back in the thirteen hundreds when much of what was Europe lay about dead when blight war and pestilence were all around and piles of corpses stood heaped on the ground. This council of men and of women held court and discussed our nation's few and last resorts and devised a schema for saving us all from wizened old geezer to children still small. We must put these bodies at once in the earth and give all sick-houses a wide solemn berth and clean up our quarters and wash all our clothes and wear clean white kerchiefs before mouth and nose, is what this wise council did wisely propose. Grigovia's death-rate fell quickly and soon and ours was a widespread but still-cautious boon for we found some lands to the north south and east had been quite abandoned to weed-growth and beast. Our borders expanded as the sickness fled and within a fortnight we'd buried the dead and started to build on the lands that we'd gained while strength hope and promise did fill us again. With stubborn defense we held onto those lands from roving marauding and murderous bands that swept from the plains of Asia's wide steppe to break up and shatter upon our doorstep. The pest never came back for we did keep clean our bodies and homes and all places once mean and foul with effluvia trash and vomit and never again did we let or permit invaders of human or non-human sort to drive us to seeking few and last resorts.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There was once a bird that from ashes arose of which have been penned many mountains of prose. We too have this legend of starting again of picking up oneself with the help of friends or gods or just solo as many still do who find themselves wishing to start over new. We call it the Nixpe, tell of it in tales and tell of its many and colorful tails as it from dire ruins of what was once had does ascend with calls bright shrill frequent and glad. As omen and idol the Nixpe does serve for it is a curious magical bird that from all the failed plans of mice and of men does emerge and emerge again and again. In our northern cities and those in the south does this ancient story fill many a mouth, from western Pyltagrad to eastern Gar Nuuzsh (whose people have roots in the great Hindu Kusch) do they speak of Nixpe whenever they hear that for a dear project the ending is near. To accept this cycle of death and rebirth requires the ego to lose its wide girth and tap instead into immutable truth and give up its concrete-filled immobile berth. When failure turns fun then this life is a gas and anger and hardship are simply bypassed for such greener pastures that broaden the mind and free it of memories best left behind. If something should burn down don't stand there and cry just give it one more solid and heartfelt try for everything built up will crumble one day – trust in the recurrence of wondrous Nixpe.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There's an ancient story concerning man-flesh – it's of course the tale of old man Grilgamesh. He'd sat masturbating for most of his life while pining for company (maybe a wife) to share with him his sodden bed made of reeds to comfort him daily and meet all his needs. His story is epic, his seed made us all, and boosted our numbers while our race was small, not yet well established upon this here Earth, this rapidly spinning celestial berth. There arrived then Ink'Du, whom Eshtir had sent to help some good people and give them defense except that wild Ink-Du and old Grilgamesh soon wove themselves into a tight friendly mesh. The high times that they had would have made strippers blush for from peak to valley the drunk pair did rush consuming and partying with all they had two arm-in-arm brothers with wide smiles glad. Eshtir she was pissed because Grilgamesh had spurned ignored denied her a place in his bed whereupon she'd sent down a mad raging cow that was meant to kill never to pull a plow. Ink'Du and his buddy did slay that bovine which caused Ink'Du's life-web to quickly unwind whereupon Grilgamesh did mourn for his mate and curse all the gods for his fallen friend's fate. He holed himself up in a far hidden place while his building projects were finished apace and realized that power was paltry at best whereupon a weight of woe fell from his chest. We humans are flimsy, he realized anon, We must not rejoice at the battles we've won but cherish the friends that we get in this life and lay down our weapons and tools made for strife; to build and to construct great cities and works to stop being assholes mendicants and jerks is all we can strive for in this life of ours so please do tread lightly always smells the flowers – too short are the rest of these remaining hours.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 The first bills we printed in May, 1810, included the faces of women and men. There was brave Queen Pylta defending a moat upon the 100 talent banking note, then there was our maiden, fair Nuuzstathena, upon what was then the 10 talent drachma. We also have honored dames foreign and not who labored to improve all of mankind's lot, like Keller Luxembourg Frank Yiessht and Curie on much of our land's official currency. We urge now the E.U., the Ynki, the Rus, to celebrate people who have shaped for us the world as we know it the world that is ours for sharing their thoughts hopes dreams and working-hours. If not for the imprint of many a lass we'd likely be living without any class and lapping at puddles and holed up in caves and not much confronting the fault of our ways. Now pull out a fifty now cast you a glance and keep you that boner-farm tucked in your pants for all of those ladies that live on your cash will save and avenge you and that in a flash. So raise you a toast to the girl at your side, for she is the source of most all of our pride, for hers is a mighty and sharply-tuned brain that's saved us from ruin again and again.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥] Now up from the caverns come quickly anon – the battle for Grig is not over or won. Now take up your rifle now grab you a knife, now arm you your children your mother your wife, and send them forthwith to the trenches to fight through bright sparkling day and through long darkest night. Remove quick from each of those foreign devices the battery, hardware, and surveillance license allowing such spies as are used by Ynki to track what you're doing to watch what you see. Our dear hard-won freedoms for which we gave much must now be protected from forces that clutch and grab at and tear down our defensive walls – if we act together we'll prove we have balls. If not though mere slaves to the Ynki we'll be and chained to their whimsical senseless decrees and bombed by their airborne death-dealing machines – mocked, despised, and ridiculed, hated, demeaned. When we fight aggression both here and abroad we garner eternal ancestral applause and honor the sacrifice our fathers made when they and our mothers refused to obey the dictates of massed and imperial brutes whose aim was to poison our deep-tendriled roots. We've taken our case before United bodies and met with our enemies in their own lobbies and sued them for clemency mercy and peace to which they however responded like beasts and sent through the wires that connect us all a whole host of viruses – damn them their gall! So now to the ramparts we dutifully march in processions piercing our victory arch once more now for glory be sure to reload come one and all defend our humble abode.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There is an old saying among Yaelong tribes: do business with he who pays the biggest bribes then turn 'round and prop up those whose need is vast for then you'll be wealthy in honor and cash. In this way they've helped keep our nation this free, by using their caches of quick blood-money to nurture a friendship and love for the poor who will then too gladly repay them, in scores. The persons with least to lose have most to gain; their methods are simple and honest and plain; they make due with little and pick up used goods that the more affluent just toss into woods. When items that still have some utility are simply discarded sans ceremony their worth is then wasted unless they are saved by persons called cur wanker peon or slave. These then use such items in ways other won't, and see in them value that rich persons don't, and raid them for pieces to fix other things or strip them of parts to mend weld repair dings. This raw ingenuity is an ideal that's shared by the Yaelong for they also feel that in modern cultures and ones long ago when people got lazy they suffered the blows of foreign invaders who simply walked in to harass and murder neighbor sibling kin. The Yaelong they sleep often under the stars and avoid the confines of brothels and bars and wander the hillsides as if homeless too with burrs in their britches and stones in their shoes. In this way they scout monitor check the routes that could be exploited by bloodthirsty brutes who'd come in and take from the sons of this land the daughters and riches now Grigovian. To rid oneself of lust temptation and greed; to practice obeisance to the common need; to craft in the head-space a temple to Right – these factors will help us to maintain the lights that shine from within the torch of Liberty and stand as a beacon for mankind to see.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 One things that enables the Wellspawn of Grig to act with a power both outsize and big is a wide-spread system of social communes that meet in halls streets alleys and living-rooms. The people who volunteer in these small clubs are mostly good citizens, oftentimes shlubs – regardless they sit down together and talk, outlining conclusions with pen-ink and chalk. They discuss the needs of both neighbor and not as well as some issues more weighty and fraught with risks to the fabric of life in their 'hood; they seek not to do harm but the greatest good. They plan local gatherings, setting the dates, when all who live close-by can party 'til late and rejoice in living under such a plan that's open for everyone to lend a hand. There's traffic-controllers and those who make sure that social divisions do find a swift cure, there's people who roam through the dark streets at night who bring back lost children and help break up fights. The standards set forth by these ohmba'ahndjar allow us to be safe from foes near and far, allow us to stay closely bound to each other and care for our feeble and sick dads or mothers. We control ourselves and only call police when there is a serious social disease like racist attacks on minorities who appear to some simpletons foreign and new. Other than when great evil raises its head and threatens to make friend and neighborhood dead do we seek assistance from forces without; until then we figure our own business out.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 Unearthed in a meadow not far from Brouhm Square was a tattooed mummy who'd still lots of hair. Some samples were taken to test whence she'd come, through high-tech machinery these were then run were peered at and prodded and sequenced until a whole new library the results could fill. They revealed that hers was a life short but clean, that she'd eaten well and possessed of the means to keep maintain protect her short-statured self for she did appear to have died in good health. Her DNA matched that of a local clan who gladly conceded to official plans that called for more studies of flesh kit and bone after which her remains would be returned home. She'd stumbled (on accident?) into a bog, did then get her ankle trapped under a log, was pulled deep down into the cold sticky ground, twas not till much later that she would be found. Among her belongings were tackle and bow, were flint-stone and snowshoe, a dozen arrows, a cloak made of rabbit fur, necklace and socks, and strange crystal fragments packed in a pine box. Her tattoos were those of some stars and a moon, three figures arranged in a telling cartoon, a deer without antlers and many straight lines that ran from her neck-bones down to her behind. Her hair shone like amber, might once have been black, her bosom was ample (she'd likely been stacked), her hips bore the tale of a child or two, and she wore a good pair of finely made shoes. After she had been scanned from head-crown to feet the Yaelong were told that the tests were complete; they picked her up gently, with due solemn grace, and laid her to rest in their most holy place.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 There stood on a mountain not far from her home an old angry cyclops who'd frozen to stone. One peak was his massive and man-crushing arse that was now not flesh and bone but rock and karst; another stark feature that reached to the sky was his dome-like forehead with its central eye. There was a long ridge made from his spinal tract that his rocky rump with his head did connect, upon which but foolhardy wanderers went – too many their blood and lives to it had lent. Regardless, the maiden – Lalu, to her friends – (she was a bit foolish) did not comprehend, the dangers and perils of fog and weather that lived in that high haunted wind-swept heather. She crossed the formation in one solid run then came to her senses (and nearly undone) when she saw the day's eye sink quickly below the high western mountains and their hats of snow. She started to shiver, remember a class that she had once taken as a pig-tailed lass, then found an outcropping that sheltered her some where she did then huddle and try to stay warm. Instead of just waiting in that spot to freeze she ripped up nearby moss and gathered some leaves and used them to make for herself a mattress so that on the rock the would not have to rest. To stoke up a fire was not an option and she had forgotten to bring her hand-phone – therefore she then prayed to the gods of her tribe and asked them to help her the night to survive. The message arrived in the eardrums of fair wise Nuuzstathena, who vanquishes fear, who sent out a legion of furry field-mice that swarmed upon Lalu and warmed her up nice. They crept in her pockets, invaded her coat, were thickest at ankles and kidneys and throat, and kept the young person alive through the night, but vanished as soon as they espied first light. The girl made it back home in time for breakfast, told all who would listen about her dire quest, then went to a temple where the Goddess lived where she many blessings and thank-yous did give.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥 |
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