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melit0n · 3 months ago

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The Fire doth Sing of Iron and Devotion.

- Synopsis: Swathed in the cold draperies of night, hunkered down with their herd of cattle, two land-locked cowpokes rest their weary heads. As stars glimmer in silver and merigold, far, far above them, the fire crackles with that which goes unspoken, and that which sleeps under wit and the strum of a guitar.

- Oneshot for @moonchild-in-blue and I.

- Word Count: 6.4k

- Warnings: None.

Above the sun-stunned, rusty land, raw from the trebling hooves of amblers, sprouting with pale greens that scale towering rock faces, the moon shines. Shines like a silver button punched into velvet, like those on the shawls passing genteel ladies wear. It peaks from behind clambering trees–branches bent on puncturing the great darkness above–and grins in a luminescent crescent at the sight before it.

Echoing on the plains, coddled bells clank and jingle with the heavy steps of creatures weary from wandering. In the dark of the night, they have nothing to guide them other than the soft clop of hooves and the low whistle of voices that they’ve come to know means safety. But, for now, they rest their hides on the warm ground below: the same land their strong shouldered, distantly dying cousins once did.

Closely, they huddle, minds eased by the knowledge of familiar hands and voices nearby. Sleep would find them quickly–glossy eyes drooping and muscles easing–if not for the constant sound of a flint.

Footsteps, light with the familiar clink of metal, approach the noise. “You got that fire started yet, or are we sleepin’ with the shadows tonight?”

Small sparks, the promise of something bright and warm, light up Mel’s face like the glow of fireflies, glinting in her murky blue eyes. Her brows are taught with focus, and there’s the beginning of an annoyed frown making its way across her slightly tanned skin. “...Almost.”

“Not to be crude, pardner, but,” Darya crouches, loose threads of soft, inky hair–pulled up underneath her hat–tickling Mel’s face. She places a hand on her shoulder for balance, leaning over the somewhat pathetic attempt to create light. “You said ‘almost’ ‘bout half an hour ago.”

Mel blows a strand of dirty blonde hair from her face–of which dutifully floats back down to its exact position moments later–and grumbles, “Ain’t my fault I’m used to the oil lamps Mr Langley gives us now.”

Darya adjusts her feet under her, engraved boots–a tapestry of foreign fruits and stars–scuffing up dirt and dust. “Well, ya’ know how to strike a match to light the lamps: surely this ain’t harder than that.” She says it with a grin: graced with pearly whites that light up any dimly lit room she’s in. Too bad it isn’t enough to light up the whole valley–would certainly save the two some trouble.

“‘Course I know how to strike a match,” A puff of dust erupts from the ground as Darya lowers herself to the ground, the brim of her slate grey, tinged blue, hat grazing over Mel’s. “If we had the matches, I wouldn’t have to be doin’ this.”

“Shoulda’ bought some when we were in Boulderstead.” Darya laments, crossing her legs and trying to ignore the dull, irritating press of tiny rocks through her chaps.

They’d only passed by two towns on their way home, Boulderstead and something with ‘creek’ in it–tumbleweed towns that were easily forgotten–and missed the opportunity to buy some both times. After their forgetfulness, Darya had expected to be able to visit an old friend’s homestead for supplies–and maybe a soft bed to sleep in for the night–only to find nothing but arid dirt and the remains of what once was.

Nowadays, nothing seems set in stone nor lead: half their maps and memories are wrong–farmsteads and friendly faces replaced by iron and fields of juniper green turned to paper mache towns that look like they’d blow over when the first snow comes.

So, for miles, it has only been the wayward pair, their horses, and their employer’s–one Mr Langley’s–prized herd of cattle.

And, for miles–for each night they spend out here–one is quietly pleased at the prospect of their partner getting roughed up and needing a hand to hold.

Iris–Darya’s well loved mare–softly neighs from behind the pair, the metal of her bridle clinking along with the steady shink of the flint. In the quick blink of light, Mel shrugs. “Shoulda’, woulda’, coulda’.”

Darya’s hand reaches upwards and sends a pat to Iris’ white and chestnut shoulder. Though, she’s sure most of the white has tinted a dull red–stained by loose soil and sand. “Would ya’ like me to have a knack?”

In the corner of her eye, Mel watches as Darya leans forward–hands open in offering. She attempts a few more times but, with hands sore, she happily hands them over, the valley finally falling quiet. “Go right ahead.” The noise quickly begins again, bouncing off of the trees and towering rocks. “I think we collected damp wood–somehow–so I doubt it’ll li-”

The dry moss sparks with life, taking mere seconds to begin smouldering with smoke. Habitually, Darya cups her hands around her mouth, and leans further forwards to give the budding flame a helping hand.

Comically, Mel’s eye twitches. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Well, what can I say?” A proud grin, accented by beauty marks, stretches across Darya’s face as she leans back, amber and morning-sun-yellow dancing in her deep, umber eyes. “Got a way with words, a paintbrush and fire.”

Mel shifts, nudging Darya in the side playfully. “You talk any longer,” she drags her numbed legs from under her and leans back on her hands. “And you’ll be gettin’ too big for your britches.”

Darya shows her palms, as if placating a skittish horse. “Only speakin’ the truth, pardner.”

After so long in the dark, it takes a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the growing light. The fire scrambles up the wood with semi-controlled hunger, marigold fingers sliding across the collapsing bark, kept away from the dry grass by hastily gathered stones that surround the growing embers.

With the stygian draperies of the night already lain across the land, the warmth is a welcome one across their faces–the frigid fingers of the midnight hour kept at bay, relinquishing their hold and peeking from behind the tree line in front of them.

The shadows are the same wherever they go, though, Mel still finds herself off-put by the wisps as they waver with each crack and pop of the wood. The other farmhands back home always make stories of them–outlaws possessed by the Devil and turned to something further than man–and both would be liars if they said they weren’t somewhat unnerved by their creeping forms.

Intently, from between the flickers of the flame, Darya eyes them, wary of outlaws and bandits, but simply finds herself–elongated and transparent–pressed against the trees.

Fatigued sigh escaping her mouth, Mel grasps for her hat–a light tan embroidered with fading flowers, battered by use and playful cows–and wipes over her face. As she peels damp wisps of hair from her forehead, Darya chuckles.

“‘N that,” Darya follows along, beginning lifting her own, feather inlaid in the band, off of her head. “Is why you should put your hair up.” As she does, she reveals the small braid tucked inside it. Looped and weaved in the twist, small flowers lie: soft, small stars carefully stitched in the silken fabric of her hair.

Mel pauses for a moment, eyes meandering over her, before flicking back to the fire and attempting to comb out her hair. “Naw, I always feel exposed with it up.”

“Exposed?” Darya turns to Mel, an amused smile spreading across her face. “What are you, a deer?” Both huff out a laugh as Darya tilts her head. “Why though? You always look real pretty when I braid it. Mrs Langley says so, too.”

Mel drops her hat to her lap, deciding to make the other hand another makeshift comb. “‘Cause I’ve a forehead the size o’ Europe.”

Darya attempts to stifle another laugh. Key word: attempts. “Naw,”

Mel keeps a blank, unamused expression. “You’re laughin’.”

Another puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh escapes Darya, before she raises a hand to wipe at an imaginary stain near her mouth. “I ain’t. You- you don’t.”

“Don’t lie to yourself- look at it!” She draws her hair back–strands as taught as a rope. “You could write half the Good Book on this thing.”

Suddenly, Darya’s face drops: frown highlighted by the flickering shadows of the fire. She reaches forth and speaks in a tone like she might just start praying. “Mel, hold- hold on.” She squints, bringing her hand to Mel’s chin. “Stay right there. I think I see sum’…”

As her head is twisted and turned like a sickly child’s, a feeling of worry builds in Mel’s chest. “What?” To the left, “What is it?” To the right, “I get nicked by sum’?” And left again.

Darya leans closer, squinting, and Mel becomes painfully aware of how warm her fingers are on her face. “Hold on…in the beginnin’, God created-”

Apprehension gone, Mel’s shoulders fall and all anxiety seeps out of her just as quickly as it built up. “Quit it.”

Darya’s laugh echoes and bounces against the creaking trees, and it doesn’t take long for Mel to join her. They stay that way, sure they sound like a pair of cackling coyotes, but they know no care for it.

When their laughter finally ceases, both of them mutely realise how close they are.

It isn’t an uncommon thing–they can’t count on two hands how often their hands have found each other as they traverse the streets–but, even so, a warmth, almost scalding, floods their faces.

Mel can feel the twitch of Darya’s fingers against her face, and a small part of her begs her to lean in.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she grins, something halfway between sly and knowing–teasing–and apprehension as she removes her hands.

Wanting to relieve the tension, Mel coughs into her hand. “How, uhm, how are the cows? We still got all twenty of em’?”

Darya hums, smiling and returning to fiddling with the feather on her cap. She’s adamant it’s some type of Hawk’s wing feather, though, it’s a long running joke that she picked it up from a chicken. “All swell. They’re tired, I don’t blame them, but well. Mr Langley insists we usually have the dogs to keep ‘em in check, so I’m surprised they’ve stuck to us without ‘em.”

“I guess after a while they realised we’re their only way back home.” Mel shifts again, swiping a few stones from under. Naturally, it does barely anything. “And Miss Langley’s acorn calf? She still swell?”

“I’ve been checkin’ on her the whole ride. If I’m honest, I’m mightily surprised she’s made it this far: strong heart, that one. Though, I might tie her and her ma’ up to Iris,” Mel sets her hat beside her, “so they keep up for the last quarter-” and pulls herself up and off the ground. “-where you off to?”

Mel twists, loud cracks emitting from her tired bones, mumbling, “Jeeze, m’ gettin’ old.” She shakes her legs, ridding herself of the numbness, and turns to Darya, a grin spreading across her face. “Gettin’ sleepin’ stuff.”

Darya begins to drag herself back up. “Fair enough. Where is Pip, anyways? You let her wander?”

“Mhm. Hope she ain’t gone too far.” After a few dry, sad attempts, a lifting whistle echoes out across the plains, quickly followed by the slow, repetitive thumps of hooves.

A while back, a group of cows would’ve probably been following her, but, after a year or two with the pair, they began to recognise the different calls used.

Unfortunately, it also means they recognise when the horses are being called over for food, as well.

But, before long, Mel’s horse–Pip–appears from the shroud of night like an aimless ghost; dapple grey coat, mane plaited with flowers, highlighted in the firelight.

With a whinny, Iris walks over to greet, dust being kicked into Darya and Mel’s eyes in her wake.

Both of their saddles are heavy with supplies: a change of clothes, each of their respective rifles and lassos, as well as tinned food and canisters of water. Normally, they wouldn’t be so stuffed, but their usual pack horse–a well loved mule named Red–decided to go lame a day before the pair headed out.

Yet another inconvenience that has dug into them during their long trip.

Metal jingles as each unties their respective gear, both careful not to undo any knots that would send their carefully arranged items tumbling to the ground. Bit by bit, they’re placed down on the dusty, rock ridden ground–a place sometimes as uncomfortable as sleeping on a bed of nails. Even after so many days spending more time on it than not, it still made them yearn for the hammocks in the yard back home more than anything.

Still, it was the best they had.

“Hey, Melie?” Darya unties her base–a thinning bedroll that has a hole too many in it.

“Yeah?”

“You,” Easily, she places it onto the ground, looking between her saddle and a compressed knitted blanket. “You got dinner?” Eventually, she chooses the blanket, keeping it folded to work as a makeshift pillow.

At the word ‘dinner’, Mel pauses her attempt to rid her bed of any small rocks, brows twitching in confusion. “We already had dinner?”

Iris and Pip huff what is almost a laugh from behind the pair. Darya looks to her, incredulous. “When?”

Mel jerks a thumb back, “Back up on the South ridge when it was startin’ to get dark! We wanted to watch the sunset, so we took a break, remember?”

Darya’s eyes search the darkness for a moment, like her pupils will pull a memory out of it.

Mel chuckles, beginning to smooth out her makeshift bed, placed close to Darya’s. “I think you gotta get your memory checked, Moony.”

“I think you gotta get your fire makin’ skills checked.” Darya scoffs, shifting her feet out of her boots.

“You won’t be sayin’ that when I put a sidewinder in your sleepin’ bag.”

Darya flops down, craning her head and watching Mel work. “You wouldn’t.” She speaks, comically aghast and playful, like a wife learning her savings have gone to whiskey and bargaining chips.

Mel hums, “I would.” As she smooths out her crinkled sheets.

Darya smiles, laughing. “You love me too much.”

Mel stays quiet, lips pursed, a silent sign of some sort of unspoken agreement, and Darya feels the itch of a ‘told you so’ on the tip of her tongue. But, as both smooth out their beds for the night, she decides to keep it hidden beneath another smile.

With ease, Mel slips her own boots off and watches the fire intently. Sleep tugs at both of their eyes–heavy as lead and light as rain–but both know neither will be welcomed into her arms tonight.

At least, not for long enough.

They need to take shifts for the cows, anyways.

Both stare, silent, at the flickering fingers of the fire, bodies dreading the inevitable five step trek to find more fuel from it. They’d both gathered some and placed it in a pile a little more than an arm's reach away, but after sitting down–even if that’s all they’d done all day–it feels painfully distant.

Rocks dig into their skin through the thin excuses for beds.

Quietly, Darya listens as Mel shifts back and forth, probably attempting to dislodge the small things like she does every night.

“You alright there?” Darya hums, hat back on her head–tilted over her eyes–and a tired lilt in her voice.

Mel sighs, annoyed but not willing to put in any more effort. “I’ve got rocks under me.”

Darya scoffs, a smile on her lips, “What a surprise that is.”

The conversation falls comfortably flat afterwards. As Mel picks at the embroidery in her hat, something she’d need to re-stitch soon–a long put off task–the stars twinkle quietly above. With no other noise than soft breathing, both think the other has managed to fall asleep.

That is, until Darya whispers, “Mel?”

She mumbles back, “Still here.”

“Do ya’ know how close we are to home?”

Mel’s eyes inch from her hat and towards Darya’s form. She’s taken her hat from her face and rested it against her chest; Iris sniffing at the feather.

“Don’t tell me you lost the compass.”

She scoffs, “How would a compass tell us how far out we are?”

Contemplative, Mel takes a few moments to respond before sighing despondently–a noise that easily makes Darya laugh. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“Been a long ride; don’t fret.”

Their eyes stay glued to each other’s, and Darya yearns to fill the silence. With what exactly, she’s unsure, but she takes a breath to speak it. Fortunately–or unfortunately–Mel beats her to it.

“‘M surprised.”

Darya’s brows furrow, craning her neck to get a better look at Mel. “Why?”

“You’re usually the one with a sense of direction.”

The memories of countless hours lost to Mel’s horrible mental compass brings a grin to Darya’s face. “Well, you’re the one who likes stars.”

Happily, Mel continues the back and forth. “You’re the one always lookin’ up at the night sky.”

Darya twists, moving to her stomach. “Can you blame me?” Distantly, they hear the sound of approaching hooves. “The moons’ as pretty as a peach.”

“Prettier than me?” Pip nips at Mel’s hat, playfully attempting to tug it away, before walking towards the treeline again, probably for a second dinner.

They’d tie the two horses up, but, after years of trekking so many miles with them, both have proven to be pleasingly loyal. Again, spending more time with them than not, a mutual trust had been formed, and they’d both decided to let them have free rein, without fretting over losing their ride far from home.

“That’s still up for debate.”

There’d been an occasion, maybe a year ago, when they’d been watching another local farmer’s cows–one Mr Rawlings–because his hands had refused to work. Said they saw a Ghost rider, no skin left on his face and a voice calling across the plains like the Devil Himself, and didn’t dare step back on the land until the Priest blessed it. So, with only a mild fear of that which goes bump in the night, they were happy to take up the additional job for some extra cash.

Iris nudges Darya’s head. Humorously, Darya looks up to her. “Whadya’ want?”

So, in unfamiliar fields under an ever watchful sky, the pair certainly had a fright waking up to seeing both their horses gone. In a panic, they ran like bats out of Hell back to Mr Rawlings to report their stolen animals. Two hours or so later, the pair came trotting back home, an unconscious outlaw tangled in one of their stirrups and reins.

Again, she prods Darya until she finally moves herself upright. “What are ya’ up to, hm?”

Having seen them find their way back home with no issue, dragging a bandit behind them, both decided to give them a little more freedom.

Happily, she settles down behind Darya, her usual spot–flask of water sloshing as she tucks her legs in. With a resounding sigh, she places her heavy head down on Darya’s pillow.

As the mare gets herself comfortable, both can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think you’re gettin’ that back tonight.”

Darya huffs, her hand beginning to paw blindly for something. “At least my horse doesn’t try to sleep on me every night.” She frowns, clearly not finding what she was looking for, and leans over Iris. For a few seconds, she almost seems to hesitate as her next words stumble out of her mouth. “I’d be a real shame if we had to share a sleeping bag, ey?”

Mel’s eyes stick to Darya’s form before letting them wander her surroundings in search of something else to fiddle with. “Oh, truly.”

The hollow knock of wood, followed by a soft, ‘aha’, tells Mel that Daryas’ found what she’s looking for.

She lifts the battered instrument over Iris, body knocking on the horn of her saddle. Somewhat more confident, she speaks, “Y’know what I heard?”

Mel’s eyes focus on a brittle-looking branch. She stretches out her arm, “What’d you hear?” before grasping onto it, and dragging it over the dry ground.

A very out of tune chord resounds in their ears. “That you get warmer faster with less clothes.”

Mel twirls the stick around in her hand, unknowing as Darya watches for her reaction. “Oh, yeah?”

Another pluck of a string–more harmonious than the last. “Ey. You, uhm, you gotta be huddled up with someone, though.” She strums a somewhat familiar chord; one of late nights together on a porch with the burn of whiskey on their tongues.

She hums. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

Darya grins to herself at the prospect. Even though she knows it's only sarcasm, she can’t help but sense a drop of sincerity.

As Mel draws patterns in the dry dirt, somewhere across the plains, a bird calls out. Maybe the Hawk, scouring each blade of grass and hare’s burrow for its missing flight feather.

“So…” Darya draws the ‘o’ out. “Where are we at?”

“Let’s see,” Mel shifts her eyes up from her swirling shapes and towards the clear sky, darting between the hundreds of silver eyes that stare down at them from the great darkness above. “That big bright one is Mars- uhm, y’know the twins? Gemini?”

She turns to find Darya’s eyes, finding them already fixed on the velvet expanse above them.

“The two stick-figure lookin’ ones? Holdin’ hands?”

“Aye.”

“Lookin’ right at ‘em.”

“Okay, um,” Mel squints at the sky, attempting to discern the different shapes and patterns–different stories woven with helium and spur silver–that cover the night sky. “Cancer? Right to the left of it.” Darya nods, “Look between the two for a big bright one; can’t miss it.”

Darya grins as she picks them out. “I see ‘im.” she giggles to herself. “Y’know, I really don’t know how people get a crab outta that.”

“You ain’t never even seen a crab.”

Darya whips her head around, a grin on her face as she bends her torso over Iris, careful not to hit her head with the neck. “Have too! Mr and Mrs Langley were given sum’ for their anniversary.” Iris flicks her ears against Darya’s face as she leans back. “‘N ain’t no way does that,” she plucks a harsh string. “Look like a crab.”

Mel peers back up at the sky, contemplative as she tries to imagine the animal in place of the glimmering stars. “...Looks more like a lobster to me.”

“Don’t you tell me you’ve seen a lobster.”

Mel crosses her arms, smug. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.”

“Just tell me how much longer we gotta be out here for.”

Mel looks back, humming, “We follow Mr Ares straight to get back home. Maybe…another day or two's ride?”

“Thank God.” Darya’s shoulder fell in relief, a sigh escaping her. Although they had both diligently attempted to keep track of the time, after so long surrounded by sand, pillars of binding red rock, and half-built rail-tracks, the days felt as if they melded—hot and red with a halcyon sky above—together.

“What,” Mel throws her stick into the fire, listening as the dry wood crackles and pops. “Am I really that bad company?” She asks in mock offense.

“Naw,” finally, her guitar seems to be tuned. Both are sure it won’t stay that way for long. “Just missin’ my bed.”

“You n’ me both.”

Bit by bit, Darya begins to string together a song, fingers moving back and forth between different chords before settling with a sequence she likes. She’s been playing it for a long while–as long as the two have known each other–along with her violin. Although, that one stays tucked up at home, far away from bucking horses, bullets, and pawing bandits.

Mel places her elbow on her knee, resting her head on her hand. “I like that one.”

Darya scoffs, smiling. “You like all my tunes.”

Mel imitates the sound, mocking her. “Because they’re all nice. I keep tellin’ you to ask the keeper if you can play them at his saloon. Everyone’d love it.”

She begins a more complicated plucking pattern, fingers dancing across the fingerboard. “One day.”

“Is that gonna be one day in this life or the next?”

“Perhaps the next. For now, I think they’ll stay for our ears.”

There it is again; that warm feeling. Quiet as the wind and as warm as whiskey. One that isn’t the amber arms of the firelight, or the food sitting at the bottom of her stomach. As Darya hums, Mel can’t help but think she’s never seen someone as lovely.

Suddenly, the pacing changes, her humming becoming as smooth as fresh butter. “New one I’ve been cookin’ up. Thoughts?”

“Sounds like you.”

Darya raises her dark eyes for a moment from the strings, iris’ flickering with the firelight. “And what would that be?”

Mel doesn’t hesitate. “Ocean waves crashing against a limestone shore.”

“Right, well, I know for a fact that you ain’t never seen the sea, same as I.” A cow moos from far off. “How could I create a sound about somethin’ I’ve never heard of?”

“You can still imagine it, no?” She shrugs.

Darya hums; soft, like the wind chimes their employers have in their orchard. “True, true.” A pause. Maybe another hesitant statement that lingers on her tongue long enough to turn the words sour to her mind. “We should go someday.”

“To the sea?” Even focused on her music, Darya can hear the grin on Mel’s face. Subtle, and half-hidden by her hand, but still there.

“Mhm. Mrs Langley has one of those big shells–a conch–on a shelf in their livin’ room. I’d like to find one for myself.”

Quiet, Mel nods in wordless agreement. They’d heard that Mrs Langley was born by the ocean, and keeps the sea foam and sand close to her heart. In the orchards, filled with white blossoms and apples, come summer, the branches are littered with wind chimes; woven with seashells and string. Both swear it’s the second prettiest sound they’ve ever known.

Darya takes in a breath, “Did ya’ know, you can hear the sea in em’? Like how people say they hear voices in the wind. Real neat how they carry a piece of their home with em’.”

“Doesn’t everything?”

Darya raises her eyes from her guitar for a moment. “True that, true that.” Before glancing back down.

Before long, the two fall into another comfortable quiet, lulled by the pop of wood, the twang of Darya’s guitar, and the far off moos of sleepy cows.

“Hey, Melie?”

“Mhm?” Mel’s eyes have drooped closed, hopeful to grasp at sleep that seems to never come.

The guitar’s wood hums when she places it down. “You got a story for us?”

She cracks an eye open, Darya’s form a blur for a few moments. “Depends on if you wanna sleep tonight.”

Darya huffs. “Oh, come on, your stories ain’t that scary.”

She peels the other eye open, once again wide awake. “Only because I keep all the good ones to myself! You scare like an afeared chicken to a loud noise, anyways.”

“Says you.” She begins putting her guitar to the side, strapping it back to Iris.

“Aye, says me.”

“Well?” She looks to Mel. “Go on.”

Mel straightens herself, clearing the remnants of drowsiness from her eyes as she dramatically clears her throat. “Alright…they say,” she begins, hoarse and preacher like. “Far out where-”

Darya tucks herself behind Iris’ head. “-Nevermind, I’m goin’ to sleep.”

It takes mere seconds for the short charade to break, both, somewhat sleep deprived, laughing at each other.

“Alright, alright.” Again, she clears her throat. “They say, far out where the sky ends and there’s nothin’ but burnin’ blue, is a town of tumbleweed and cow bones.”

Darya shifts back up, sitting cross-legged and leaning over Iris. “So, our town?”

“Ain’t that bad.” Mel stretches, attempting to get comfortable again.

“Debatable.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

Darya shrugs. “Because you’re there.”

Mel waits a few seconds, turning the words around in her mind. “That a compliment or an insult?”

Darya grins, sly and joking. “Well…”

“Y’know,” Mel begins, toneless, “I ain’t really in the mood for storytellin’ no more-”

“-No, no,” Darya chuckles. “Carry on.”

Mel raises her eyebrows again, seemingly waiting for another interruption, before a pleased smile stretches across her face. “Now, nobody knows its name no more. Long lost to the dust and the tramplin’ hooves of those which have gone early. But, even ghost towns were once livin’.”

Darya knows the type of town she speaks of well. Places of rotting timber and fading paint, with inhabitants who’d rather pretend to be dead than confront the odd passerby. Places where the grass grows as tall as a man, and homes are more bones than flesh.

“This town is just like any that have come before it. The drunkards still holler nonsense at God’s hour,” A laugh gets caught in Darya’s throat. “The banker still shifts shadily in the alleys, and the farm hands still drink their whiskey on the porch.”

“You sure this ain’t about our town?”

Pip shakes her head, rattling her bridle as Mel brings a hand to soothe her. “Sure hope it ain’t.” Darya listens as she chews on her bit, a noise somewhere between the shink of a reloading shotgun and the grinding of brittle teeth. “Anyway, in this town, a young woman lives.”

She brings a hand to her own horse’s head, threading through her tousled mane. “What she like?”

“She’s as pale as a Charolais, sings like a bird up on a vine, and lives with her husband, a cow wrangler, up on a hill.”

Distantly, one of the cows lets out a low bellow, one that sets off some of the others in the herd. It’s something between another snore and a tired sigh, but it still makes their ears perk. Makes their eyes squint into the darkness beyond. Makes their fingers twitch for their rifles.

All remains still.

Both let their eyes wander back to their fire. It’ll need some more wood soon.

“So, one of these days, she’s out in the market, buyin’ flowers for her husband and bartering for a nice chicken; it’s his birthday the day after tomorrow, and she wants to treat ‘im.” Mel brings her hands up close to the fire, Darya watching as she creates shadow puppets. “After she’s all set, she sneakily walks back home–didn’t tell her husband what she was buyin’, and prepares to creep her way to the pantry to hide her spoils. But, when she rounds the corner to her kitchen, she spies another woman.” Darya gasps dramatically. “Another woman and her man.”

She rolls her eyes, “Typical.”

“Mhm. Now, in a fit o’ rage, ‘fore her husband can even catch a glimpse o’ her, she rushes inna fit through town, and no matter what nobody does, they can’t stop her from runnin’. She runs, and she runs, and she runs, until the night swallows her whole.”

“Let me guess:” Darya cracks her back. “She ain’t never seen again?”

“Stop tryna’ spoil yourself–we’re gettin’ to the good bit.” she shushes. “Eventually, after months o’ searchin’, after sendin’ every other able bodied man out to look for her, they deem her dead. And, of course, with his God given wife now gone, the husband decides to remarry. With this woman-”

“-The same he was cheatin’ with?”

Mel nods. “Aye.”

“Go on.”

“With this woman, he has a child. He grows tall n’ strong, n’ fights any ailment and Devil and his black hat throw at him. He helps his pa’ out in the fields–cattle wranglin’–”

“Are we gonna make an appearance in this story?”

“If you let me finish, then maybe.” Mel jokes. “N’, on a lush Spring day, a herd of mustangs are passin’ by.” She shifts her hands over each other, creating a horse within the fading flame of the fire. “And he spots the prettiest mare he’s ever seen: pure white, aside from a pitch black star in the centre o’ her chest.” Behind her, Pip finally decides it's time to lie down, and falls ungracefully into Mel’s lap. Gently, she threads her hands through the loose strands of her plait. “After spendin’ so long seein’ his pa’ wrangle cattle and horses, he sets his eyes on her, waitin’ until she’s away from the herd. She’s real calm, calmest Mustang he’s ever known, and lets him wrap a lead round her neck. He decides to push it, and gets on her back.”

Darya glances to the fire, blindly searching with her hand for something to fuel it. Eventually she finds another branch, and carefully places it in.

“He calls to his dad, wantin’ him to see his achievement. But, spooked, the mare begins trottin’ away. Then she canters. Then she gallops, and she don’t stop.” Mel pauses, hoping to attain some dramatic effect like the drunkards telling any other drinker of all the men they’ve shot.

“They ever find him?”

“His pa’ searched for him for hours, but, just like his wife, they found not a thing: no clothes, no blood, no bones. They say,” she exhales, a cold puff of mist fading into the darkness. “He found a way to where the sky ends.”

Another pause. This time, Darya can’t tell if it’s for effect or not. “That it?” Darya scoffs a laugh.

Mel raises a hand in placation. “Naw, there’s more, there’s more. After the disappearance, death, of their son, the couple is distraught. His pa’ spends more time with his cows and horses than he does with his own wife. So, in order to try to reconnect with him, when the sun is high in the sky, and the weeds walk in packs in the winds, she goes to the market to find one.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“She’s wandering the stalls, looking over each creature, and she eyes one she likes. White as the moon above with a-”

The two speak in tandem. “-black star on her breast.”

Mel nods, laughing lightly. “She’s cheap, marked down because of her temperament, but when the lady approaches her, she’s as calm as a Spring breeze. So, she buys her, and takes her home, makin’ sure she’s broken in before riding her out to show her husband. Of course, he’s as angry as a fresh wound when he sees her, and tries to take her back to the seller. But, he refuses to take her–’a deal is a deal’. On the few times she’s being ridden, he’s always with her wife, mumblin’ the Devil’s talk to her, and sure that she can understand. However, one day, his wife goes out on her own.”

Across the plain, a jackal howls.

“How they find her?”

“Like usual: they don’t. The horse comes back, still with her saddle and bridle, and they joke that the money spent on that horse was well: she’s as loyal as a Church wife.” She makes a little halo with her hands. “Done with this horse, a demon he’s sure has come to taunt him for not lookin’ after his wife, he takes his shotgun, goes to her paddock, and gives her lead.”

“Then?”

Mel leans back, smiling to herself. “Calmed at the prospect of that thing finally being dead, he gets his cart ready to throw her out to the tumbleweeds–let the scavengers have at her. But, when he goes to get his horse, there she is: standing in the paddock where he’s sure he left her to bleed out. So, he shoots her again.” Mel rustles something metal–maybe her canister–on Pip’s saddle. “And again.” Another tink of the metal. “And again. No matter what he does, she’s always there. The townspeople call him raving mad, and ignore the gunshots that go off each night. When they finally stop, they hope he’s finally come to his senses. He came to them alright. Spilled them in red over dust and dried hay.” She lets go of the saddle.

“And the horse?”

“Found a way to break out of her stable. ‘Always temperamental, that one’, they had said. ‘Don’t know why he ever kept her.’ Some travelers say, far out, where night meets the land, a white mare roams with a wild herd. Stare into her eyes, and you might just see somethin’ human.”

Mel exhales, hands unfolding and brought to her knees as she watches Darya’s face for approval.

She stays blank. “You gon’ give me one of those ‘good ones’ you’ve been storin’ up or what?”

“Oh, come on!” She throws her hands up. “Needs a bit more tinkerin’, but it ain’t horrible.”

“Jokes,” Darya leans to her right, grabbing something. “Just jokes, pardner.” The fire crackles as a new log is fed to it. The embers dance in the air for a moment, sunset stars burning up before their very eyes, before disappearing back into the flame.

Mel shakes her head, leaning back and attempting to shuffle into her bedroll. “So, if you get a bedtime story,” even half asleep, knowingly, Pip shifts herself, laying her head on Mel’s chest. She heaves at the sudden weight. “Do I- Do I get a bedtime lullaby?”

Rolling her eyes, Darya leans back over Iris, unhooking the guitar once again. “Hold your horses.”

The metal of Pip’s bridle clinks and Mel grasps it. “Holdin’ ‘em.”

Guitar back in her lap, Darya begins strumming again. It’s a soft tune, strummed gently with the occasional, high pitched twang of one of the strings. “What’s this one sound like, then?”

Mel’s eyes droop close. She can already feel herself overheating. “Like home.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Like waves crashing against limestone, too.” Mel grunts, attempting to get comfortable as Pip subconsciously shifts more of her weight onto her. She sighs as she finally finds a comfortable position. “N’ that’s close enough to Heaven for me, too.”

From over Iris’ head, Darya’s eyes wander to what she can see of Mel’s form, another sentence–maybe a final comeback–pushing against the back of her teeth. She lets it fizzle out like the embers of the fire, and hopes the warmth in her chest will do the same.

She knows she isn’t asleep yet–her breathing hasn’t yet gone soft–but her fingers grow idle on the frets. With dust climbing up her chaps, she places her guitar aside with a low thump. With one last glance at the fire, she gathers some dust to put it out before unhooking her rifle, and leaning against her horse.

Grinning, she wonders to herself that perhaps, in another life, they too are the lovers the constellations speak of.

---------------

Writing this made me realise I need to practice third person a bit more. Usually, when I do, I focus on one main character and their thoughts, perceptions and actions in the scene (e.g., in WDJ) but, doing it here made things feel one-sided, so I ended up with a slightly odd narration style which I'm not really use to.

Minor frustrations aside, this was stupidly fun to write! I've never done anything Western based, so it was really cool to do some extra research on Western Jargon, clothing, speech patterns and history. It may not be entirely accurate, but I loved working on it, so I don't mind all too much.

#while I did have fun writing this I do think it could've been better (dialogue tagging when I get you) so I apologise for that Darya #I'm blaming it on me not entirely knowing what to do with narrating third person #writing so much for Ditf has ruined my other __ person abilities 😔 /hj #but either way I hope you like it <33 #oc x oc #I think??#mel's musings #western #cowboy #cowboy oc #cowboy posting #original writing #or would it be like...self insert? Self shipping??#no clue

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pomodoriyum · 1 year ago

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heeey could you tell me a little more about your girdling method for ligustrum? what age group is the ligustrum in when you treat ti that way and at what density in the stand? it was never a high priority target in the places i worked before just because it was in such high density monotypic stands that we didn't have the means to do followup restoration work so i never really tried a lot of control methods for it!

Hi! Thanks for the questions, I’m pretty stoked to be asked about this.

Going to start with identifying the ligustrum I girdle first, mostly for folks who don’t know what it is, where it’s native to, what it looks like, and its role in the ecosystem it comes from (and how it doesn’t fulfill those roles in the Americas). also, going under the cut because this is long.

The plant that I girdle is Ligustrum lucidum (common name: glossy privet). It’s a shrubby tree that grows about 20-30ft tall here, and creates monoculture stands (read: it’s the only plant in the area). Bugs don’t recognize it as food, and it tends to soak up available groundwater in such quantity that it kills our native trees during droughts due to additional stress. Where I live it’s considered invasive, though due to deregulation many types of ligustrum are used in landscaping. Ligustrum originates from china, japan, and korea, and in these areas, it’s a fairly important plant (frequently used in nonwestern medicine, but it’s also been documented as a poison and an allergen, so….don’t try at home?).

Riparian areas–especially disturbed riparian areas–is where most escaped ligustrum is found.

Ligustrum is notoriously difficult to remove. It’s got really large energy reserves in its root system, so if it’s cut down, the tree will re-sprout rapidly. There are ways to chemically poison it, but over vast areas that’s dangerous and very expensive. Usually, the best method is to prevent it from entering the ecosystem in the first place– once it’s there, best efforts are really about controlling its spread rather than completely eliminating it. I do think part of the issue is that it’s commonly used in landscaping, so there’s endless ‘stock’ revitalizing escaped populations. Also, ligustrum leads the way for other invasive species to colonize more land, as it is extremely quick to mature and reproduce, thus choking out other native vegetation. It’s a bit brutal to see. Anyway, it’s everywhere once you know how to spot it.

One drop of good news: the seeds that enter soil tend to rot within the year if they don’t sprout– though, of course, individual trees may produce up to three million viable seeds. One thing they do is feed cedar waxwings, which I can’t really be upset by. However, outside of their original ranges, they don’t do much to support the new communities they’re in, and actively kill legacy trees.

Now, to your questions:

could you tell me a little more about your girdling method for ligustrum?

Sure! Very simple and satisfying. I’ve also included a video link– similar method to mine.

The goal of girdling is to disrupt energy flow from the leaves of the tree to the roots, causing the trees to starve and die. It usually take 6 months to 1 year to fully kill the tree, though I’ve seen the effects (leaf wilt, drooping) as early as 2 weeks after girdling.

Tools needed:

Paint scraper

Isopropyl alcohol in spray bottle, or soapy water

Rough sponge that’s fairly abrasive

Hedge clippers

Steps:

Identify the tree. Look for glossy, dark green leaves with grey-green bark. The edges of the leaves will light up when you hold them up against the sun. The edges of the leaves are also smooth, not serrated, and they are opposite each other on the stem. Ligustrum also tends to have 2-8 mini “trunks” that support its branches. When flowering, its white, perfume-y, and the flower branches are sort of shaped like a triangle or a cone.

Their seeds are drupes, blue and similar to seeds from some species of juniper. Please don't eat them.

Clean the tree up– frequently there’s lots of growth around the base, with a bunch of tiny little branches that should be trimmed away. The hedge clippers are handy here.

Remove the outer layer of bark from one of the trunks with the paint scraper, all the way around. It should come up easily in the spring, but will resist strongly during the summer and winter. You want to make sure that there’s at least a 5-6 inch gap between the top and bottom edges of bark. I usually go between 1 and four feet of space, when the bark is easy to peel up. This layer is about an eighth to a quarter of an inch thick, depending on the age of the tree.

Repeat this step to all of the trunks present. Make sure that you remove the bark from all the way around each branch. This prevents it from scabbing over.

You’ll notice that the sapwood is slimy to the touch where the bark has been peeled away. This is a tissue layer responsible for generating more bark, and it must be scraped off, or else the trunk will scab over and recover. Use the paint scraper to get rid of all of this material in a ring around the trunk, about 5-6 inches wide. If you miss any, it will start drying a dark brown color on top of the lighter sapwood, and is easy to spot.

Make sure to remove all leaves and non-girdled branches that are below the cut / where the ring of bark was removed. This prevents sugars from being created by leaves that are still connected to the roots.

Finally, take your spray bottle of isopropyl and spritz each girdled band all the way around, and scrub it in with the abrasive sponge.

Congrats! It’s been girdled!

The tree will likely try to sprout new growth underneath the girdle bands over the next year. If you return and remove them before the stems become woody, the tree will die.

what age group is the ligustrum in when you treat ti that way and at what density in the stand?

I’ve girdled trees that are fully mature (30ft) as well as smaller saplings that are still part of the understory (8-10 ft). Typically, I prioritize removing ligustrum within 20 ft of our legacy trees (oaks, pecans, hackberry that range between 50-200 yrs old). The project area’s pretty large, and has stands of trees with various percent ligustrum, probably between 10% ligustrum at the least affected areas and 85-95% ligustrum in most affected areas. Most of my work has focused on areas with less than 50% ligustrum monoculture. I’ve noticed that smaller trees tend to die faster when girdled, while more mature trees need to be checked frequently to prevent regrowth. This is probably due to large amounts of stored energy in the roots.

A lot of follow up is needed for these plants– about half of the ligustrum I’ve girdled so far has actually died, while the other half (while severely injured and on the way out) have needed new growth removed from their bases at least once, if not twice so far. It’s a highly intensive process, and probably isn’t suited for large scale restoration projects, unless endless time and money is available. I just happen to be the right flavor of nuts to do this in my free time. You’ll need to check girdled trees at least once every three months for a year or so.

One thing that kills ligustrum pretty effectively are temperatures below 15 degrees F for a week or more, though larger trees will recover from the damage. Those kinds of temperatures clear out small 4-5 ft trees decently, and guarantee death for the 3ft bushes. If you figure out a way to selectively control the weather, let me know.

For trees below 4 feet, I use a tree puller to uproot them. It’s more efficient than girdling. Also, snails really like climbing up ligustrum when it rains, so watch out not to smash them!

Thanks for the questions, feel free to reach out for more info!

Photos are from wiki commons and creative commons.

#pomodoriwhines #girdling #restoration #ligustrum #apparently there's a lot that isnt known abt ligustrum #in terms of Official ResearchTM #tho ive heard folks are finally studying it #you know in an invasive ecology way #asks #oh also what kind of restoration probect have you worked on? seems like you work with groups and such which sounds both nice and also #quite challenging

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soulsfthebrokenwarrens · 9 months ago

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You watch as Juniper droops his ears and sighs discontentedly, getting on his fours and walking over to Celeste. He softly holds her close and she just... cries.

"You should probably go somewhere else for now," sighed Juniper, turning his head to address you. "I'm sure the others will be happy to show you around."

he then turned his head back to comfort his friend.

#sotbw update

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antclan-blogs · 1 year ago

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MOON 48

Sunleopard dies of whitecough. Berryspot is killed by a fox. Glademoss becomes the new Antclan deputy.

This moon’s horrific and awful and heart-wrenching story under the cut! TW: Gore and Cat death ⚠️⚠️

Hushstep had refused to leave his nest all day. The weight of Sunleopard’s death hung low over camp like a stormcloud, it’s rumbling grief an ominous presence as the cats of Antclan attempted to process the incomprehensible loss of that moon.

“I know you’re grieving, but cats are still going to get sick.” Berryspot mewed quietly, standing over Hushstep. “Sunleopard wouldn’t want you to neglect your duties.”

��What’s the point?” Hushstep mumbled, his eyelids drooping. His brain was still trying to process the sheer guilt that despite his best efforts, he couldn’t save Sunleopard from the whitecough that eventually took her life.

She had been buried last night. The vigil was short and tearful, many cats too upset to stay for long. Only Anisetooth and Cedarheart, her kits, had sat with her lifeless form for the entire duration of the moon’s arc across the sky. No patrols had been sent out that day, and the two young warriors probably wouldn’t attend them for a while when they eventually resumed.

“The point is that Sunleopard isn’t the only cat who’s ever going to die. You have to stay strong for this clan, or other cats are going to suffer the same fate as her.” Berryspot argued. Turning away, he nosed through the herb supplies. “We need more juniper. Maybe you can start by going out and getting some? You need the fresh air.”

Hushstep didn’t respond. Giving a long sigh, he shook a burr out of his pelt and glanced at his old mentor.

“Fine. I’ll get them. But while I’m gone, maybe you should check on a few cats? Depression can be dangerous, Hushstep.” Berryspot suggested before padding out of the den and into the clearing. As he passed through it, he caught sight of a troubled-looking Glademoss pacing in front of the high rock. Becoming deputy was a lot of responsibility for a young cat.

Of course Berryspot was saddened by Sunleopard’s death, but the two cats had never been particularly close. He had taught himself to become detached from his emotions after the deaths of so many cats.

Following the sandy path trodden by hundreds of paws, he sniffed the air and tasted something odd on his tongue. It wasn’t like prey—it was tangier, and had a trace of blood that regular rabbits and squirrels didn’t.

Curious, Berryspot veered off the path and began to track the scent through the grassy plains. As it grew stronger, so did his worry, and eventually the scent was so strong that he had to stop and take a deep breath.

Suddenly, a low growling could be heard from behind him. Freezing, Berryspot turned slowly to face a massive ginger fox glaring at him in fury.

“Mouse-dung.” Berryspot whispered under his breath. He was a medicine cat, with very little fighting training. Could he hold off a vicious fox?

As he thought, the fox took a vicious swipe at his nose and Berryspot stumbled backwards. Bounding forwards again, he attempted to swipe its paws from underneath it, but his blow was weak and the fox was unfazed.

As the fox’s anger grew, it lunged for Berryspot’s throat.

Blood.

Berryspot felt the gash vaguely as he swayed.

Ground.

Earth.

Dark.

no comment 😭

#warrior cats #clangen #antclan #clan generator #warriors

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alpineramble · 8 months ago

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Sagarmatha National Park: The No. 1 Best Destination for Trekking and Mountain Expeditions

Sagarmatha National Park is highly renowned for housing the world’s tallest mountain, Mount Everest (8,848.86 meters), and the popular trekking destination, Everest Base Camp. Sagarmatha National Park is a true ecological hotspot, with its diverse geography, native flora and fauna, breathtakingly lofty mountains, and vibrant Sherpa culture.

Background and History

The name of Sagarmatha is derived from two Nepali words: "Sagar,” meaning sky, and "Matha,” meaning forehead. So altogether, Sagarmatha means the forehead of the sky, and it is known as Chomolungma in Tibetian, which means "Goddess Mother of the Earth." Since the 1950s, tourism has taken the shape of mountaineering and trekking in the Everest Region, resulting in a positive change in the local economy as well as a change in the landscape, livelihood patterns, resource management, and infrastructure development. As a response to concerns about conservation, the Sagarmatha National Park was established on July 19, 1976 AD.

Following its establishment after three years, Sagarmatha National Park was also listed on UNESCO’s World Heritage Site List for its ecological diversity and unique culture. Furthermore, on January 1, 2002, a 275-square-kilometer buffer zone was declared, including the park's settlements. Then, on September 23, 2007, Gokyo and its surrounding lakes were recognized as Wetlands of International Importance under the Ramsar Convention.

Sagarmatha National Location, Map, and Getting There

Located in the north-eastern part of Nepal, the Sagarmatha National Park spans 1,148 square kilometers, encompassing the Himalayan ecological zone of the Khumbu Region. The protected area also adjoins the Makalu Barun National Park and Rolwaling Valley of the Gauri Sankar Conservation Area to the east and the Qomolangma Biosphere Reserve in the Tibetan Autonomous Region of China to the west.

The route to Sagarmatha National Park and also the popular trekking destinations such as the Everest Base Camp Trek, Gokyo Lakes Trek, and the Three High Pass Trek, as well as the Everest expeditions, and Kalapathar follow the same path. The distance of the SNP from Kathmandu is about 135 kilometers. So, you have the option of a flight to Lukla, which is either from Kathmandu or Manthali, Ramcehhap. The flight is about 25 minutes. Alternately, you can also catch a flight to Phaplu or Tumlingtar and trek the remaining distance, which is two days of walking. There is also the option of a direct helicopter ride to SNP.

The best route by road is to take a bus to Salleri, then, from there, another ride to Thamdada. From Thamdada, you will have to trek for another two days to reach the Sagarmatha National Park.

Flora and Fauna

The Sagarmatha National Park is one of the ecological hotspots in the Himalayan region of Nepal. The area inhabits rare and endangered species of both plants and animals, which has brought about the conservation efforts of this protected area. 69% of the total land in the protected area is barren above the altitude of 5000 meters, 28% is grazing land and the remaining 3% is covered with forests.

The park has six different types of vegetation. The lower subalpine zone is above 3,000 meters and has forests of blue pine (Pinus wallichiana), east Himalayan fir (Abies spectabilis), and drooping juniper (Juniperus recurva). The upper subalpine zone is above 3,600 meters and has a birch-rhododendron forest with Himalayan birch (Betula utilis), Rhododendron campanulatum, and R. campylocarpum. The lower alpine is above the timber line at 3,800–4,000 meters and has scrubs of Juniperus species Rhododendron anthopogon and R. lepidotum. The upper alpine zone is above 4,500 meters and has grassland and dwarf shrubs. The sub-nival zone is between 5,750 and 6,000 meters and has cushion plants.

The park also has a thriving faunal habitat with 152 high-altitude breeding species of birds, including blood pheasant (Ithaginis cruentus), robin accentor (Prunella rubeculoides), white-throated redstart (Phoenicurus schisticeps), grandala (Grandala coelicolor), and several rosefinches. There are also a total of 28 species of mammals, such as the northern plains grey langur (Semnopithecus entellus), jackal (Canis aureus), grey wolf (Canis lupus), Himalayan black bear (Ursus thibetanus) (VU), red panda (Ailurus fulgens) (VU), yellow-throated marten (Martes flavigula), Siberian weasel (Mustela sibirica), snow leopard (Panthera uncia) (EN), Himalayan musk deer (Moschus leucogaster) (EN), Himalayan tahr (Hemitragus jemlahicus) and Himalayan goral (Naemorhedus goral).

There is limited information regarding the documentation of reptiles and amphibian species. It is estimated that there are seven reptiles and six amphibians, while there have been records of 30 species of butterflies within the protected area, among them the orange and silver mountain hopper (Carterocephalus avanti), which is not recorded elsewhere in Nepal, and the rare red apollo (Parnassius epaphus).

Note: VU-Vulnerable, EN-Endangered

Mountains, Rivers, and Glaciers in the Sagarmatha National Park

The mountains of the Himalayas are considered to be geologically very young mountains, including the world’s highest Mt. Everest (8848.86 meters). Other notable peaks over 8000 meters include Cho Oyu (8,188 meters) and Lhotse (8,516 meters), along with 6000 and 7000-meter peaks such as Baruntse, Nuptse, Pumo Ri, Guachung Kang, Nangpai Gosum, Ama Dablam, Lobuche, Tabuche, Kang Tega, Thamserku, and many more.

The upper headwaters of the Bhote Kosi, Dudh Kosi, and Imja Khola rivers, which splinter beneath the Himalaya Mountains on the Tibetan border and converge close to Namche Bazar, the area's primary settlement, make up the core portion of the park. The rivers in Sagarmatha National Park are fed by glaciers at the top of each valley. Key glaciers include Imja, Nangpa, Ngozumpa, and Khumbu.

The 20-kilometer-long Ngozumpa Glacier is bordered by four Gokyo lakes. While all glaciers are retreating, Imja Dzo has expanded since the 1970s, now covering 1,200 hectares and 45 meters deep. Several new glacial lakes have also formed recently.

Communities and Culture of the Khumbu

The natives of the Khumbu region are the people of the Sherpa caste. The history of the Sherpas dates back to the late 1400s and early 1500s when the Samlo Gang in the eastern Tibetan territory was said to escape from military and political pressure. In the early 1530s, they migrated into Nepal over the Nangpa La Pass, splitting into two groups that settled in Khumbu and Solu, further south.

One of the biggest influences on the Sherpa communities has been the introduction of mountaineering in the 1950s, which revolutionized their economy. They are the followers of Tibetan Buddhism, which was founded by Guru Rinpoche. Monasteries like Tengboche and Pangboche and other smaller gompas are held in high regard, which is the prime location for their celebrations and ceremonies. The routes and trekking trails are often covered with inscriptions and flags of the Buddhist prayer Om mani padme hum, "praise to the jewel of the lotus flower."

Seasons, Weather, and Climate

The weather and temperature of SNP vary in accordance with the season and the diversity of the geographic location. Lower alpine regions such as Namche Bazaar are considerably humid with seasonal monsoons during summer, whereas the higher altitudes are very cold and dry, even dropping to a negative 25 degrees Celsius during the winter season. Autumn and spring have a more moderate temperature and a clear sky, which is the perfect time to visit SNP.

Even so, the average temperature in the Himalayas has increased by 1°C since the 1970s, nearly twice as quickly as the 0.6°C global warming that the Inter-Governmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) reported. This indicates that climate change is a serious problem. There have been visible impacts, such as the risk of the Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF), retreating glaciers, untimely snow and rainfall, and reduced snowlines.

Trails and Landmarks of the Sagarmatha National Park

The Sagarmatha National Park should be on your list to visit at least once in your lifetime. There are a variety of options you can choose from; from trekking to mountain expeditions to having a religious retreat, this protected area has got you covered. Here are some popular destinations within the National Park:

Everest Base Camp

The Everest Base Camp Trek is the most popular trek of Nepal. A trail within the park offers the best view of the Everest along with other majestic mountains and an immersive experience of the Sherpa culture.

Tengboche Monastery

Built in 1916, it is the largest monastery in the Khumbu region. An integral part of the Buddhist and Sherpa communities, at an elevation of 3,867 metres (12,687 feet), Tengboche Monastery is also known as the gateway to Everest.

The intricate architectural design, with the beautiful backdrop of Mount Ama Dablam, makes the monastery even more spiritual. It is a place of great importance for both the Sherpa and Buddhist communities.

Gokyo Lakes

TheGokyo Lakes Trek with ebc is another popular trekking journey among adventurers. It is a site of great importance, in terms of both natural and religious importance. Gokyo and its associated lakes are part of important wetlands around the world. Along with the lakes, the Gokyo Ri Trek also offers the best view of the Himalayan mountains.

Three High Passes trek

The Three High Passes Trek is a challenging adventure where the trails go through the famous high passes of the Everest region: Kongma La, Cho La, and Renjo La. A long and formidable trekking journey around the Sagarmatha National Park, with all-round views of Everest.

Namche Bazaar

Namche Bazaar is a bustling Sherpa town at an elevation of 3,440 metres (11,286 ft). It lies within the Sagarmatha National Park and is a trading hub for the Khumbu Region. It is the main transit for Everest treks or expeditions. Despite the lack of access to roads, Namche Bazaar has ample amenities and services that meet the demands of tourists.

Ultimately

Sagarmatha National Park is not only a significant part of the trekking and mountaineering community but also holds equal importance in regard to ecology and biodiversity. With majestic views of some of the highest mountains in the world and glimpses of rare wildlife, SNP is the best place to quench your thirst for outdoor adventure in every sense.

If you are planning a journey to Everest, allow us to guide you. From Everest Base Camp to Gokyo, you are guaranteed the best time with our experienced guides at your service, who will take you on an unforgettable adventure in the Sagarmatha National Park.

Reference

Daconto, G., & Sherpa, L. N. (2010). Applying scenario planning to park and tourism management in Sagarmatha National Park, Khumbu, Nepal. Mountain Research and Development, 30(2), 103–112. https://doi.org/10.1659/mrd-journal-d-09-00047.1

DNPWC. (n.d.). Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation. https://dnpwc.gov.np/en/conservation-area-detail/72/

Sagarmatha National Park. (n.d.). https://www.snp.gov.np/about-us

Unep-Wcmc. (2017, May 22). SAGARMATHA NATIONAL PARK. World Heritage Datasheet. http://world-heritage-datasheets.unep-wcmc.org/datasheet/output/site/sagarmatha-national-park/

#nepal #hiking #travel #outdoor #adventure #Nepaltreks #Trekking in Nepal #Annapurna region #everest region #everest trek

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jacksonroseroth · 1 year ago

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~The Price~Chapter 2~

Moodboard by @badwolf-in-the-impala, pictures not mine

Reposting because I missed a chunk from chapter 1 XD

The following Monday marked a week til Christmas and Taddie was excited as she took a few hundreds from her overflowing piggy bank to do a bit of shopping for herself and Ash, seeing as they spent their Christmases alone, just the two of them and their pets. Ash had a 4 year old bullypit and Taddie moved in with a 2 year old Egyptian Mau cat. Thankfully, the two got along great, though they had their spats, as species do. Both pets were beyond spoiled, having their own beds, their own bedding and their own small wardrobe of clothes beside their two different sized baskets of toys.

After walking out of the pet store with, surprisingly, just a small bag only containing treats for each ‘child’, a bone for Rowdy, and cat grass for Juniper, Taddie crunched her way to the car with a shiver, speeding up her steps. Stamping her feet in the snow as she fumbled with her keys, she let out an audible shiver before ripping open the door and hopping in, immediately starting the car and warming it up as she plugged in her phone, starting her music. She sat there for a moment as she let the car warm up and she pulled up the address of the mall in Charlottesville, where the stores she wanted to go to were.

It was an hour drive, but with her music, it seemed like half an hour. Taddie was ecstatic to find a spot decently near the front and hurried in to get as much done as she could before it got too busy. She got a few new makeup kits for Ash, as well as a new fuzzy robe and a matching pair of slippers, along with a few bath bombs. Her eye was caught by a beautiful amethyst bracelet in a jewerly storefront and stood there for several minutes as she debated whether or not to buy it outright or see if she could put it on hold. Finally, she went in to ask about it, either way.

“Hello. What can I help you with today, Miss?” The saleswoman asked as she came up on the other side of a line of display cases that Taddie looked over.

“Hi-Um, actually, you have a really beautiful amethyst bracelet in the window? There was no price-How much for that?” Taddie asked, flashing the woman a smile. The woman nodded and moved around to the window, reaching through to grab the small display and set it on top of one of the cases. Taddie came around and touched the bracelet as she said, “Yes, this one here.”

“Ah, yes, this is a new set, we haven’t gotten the prices out just yet…But if I’m remembering correctly, this piece is going for $125.” The woman said, picking it up and draping it over her wrist as she held out her arm, showing it to Taddie. She nodded and smiled as she admired the bracelet then chewed her lip as she heard the price. Taking a deep breath, Taddie nodded and said, “Okay…Um, so this is for a friend-Amethyst is her birthstone-But I-I don’t have the whole $125…Can I-Do you do lay-away, or can I do a half now, half next week? A hold situation?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t do split payments on pieces this small in price, but if you have a credit card we can charge it, if you’d like to do it that way?” The woman offered, setting the bracelet back. Taddie shook her head with another sigh and her shoulders drooped a little more.

“Alright…Um-How-How much stock do you have in these? I don’t get paid until Friday, I’ll be back then--”

“Not to worry, Miss. It’s a new collection and we’ll have it in stock through New Year’s. I can take your name and number down, though, just in case it gets a rise in demand?” The woman offered as she put the display back. Taddie gave her a relieved, yet still sad smile, settling for this at least, then she’d have someone hopefully keeping an eye out for her.

“Yes, please. Thank you. That would be great.” Taddie said, following the woman to the register, where she grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. The woman took her name and number and Taddie thanked her before walking out, her smile dropping off her face with a sigh as she muttered to herself, “Damnit…Ash would have loved that.”

Shaking her head, Taddie pushed through the crowd of people, heading toward BoxLunch to see if their Loungefly backpacks were on sale and what they had in stock. She elbowed her way through to the stand and looked them over, seeing them on a BOGO sale. She was excited, but carefully went over them all before she grabbed two-A Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends one for herself, that she nearly broke her neck over she did such a quick double take, and Stranger Things one for Ash, that had Eddie Munson’s face on it. She knew this had to be her last gift purchase and she was more than happy with the haul she’d gotten, still feeling sad about not being able to get the bracelet for Ash.

Taddie knew she’d probably make more than that later on during her shift that night and she could have done a simple transfer from her savings to get the piece, but she needed to show some kind of self restraint, despite her pretty, shiny, squirrel brain telling her to buy it, buy it, buy it! She slipped the strap of her last bag around her wrist, shaking it down her arm as she walked out, a small smile on her face and letting out a relieved sigh. Taddie was so content, excited, and anxious to get home and start wrapping, she didn’t see the man in her path and crashed into him.

“Oh! Oh-Oh, I-I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so-” Taddie stopped, blinking up at Thatcher as he held her arms with a chuckle, staring down at her with his green eyed gaze and a crooked smile. “Thatcher.”

“Taddie. Nice running into you.” Thatcher rumbled at her, guiding her to the side, as not to block the flow of traffic. Taddie, gripped his arm and glanced around as he moved them out of the way, taking a deep breath before looking back up at him. “What are you doing in Charlottesville?”

“I-Well, I could ask you the same. My answer is a little more obvious.” Taddie said, lifting her arm as she pulled her hand back. Thatcher chuckled and nodded along before he said, “Fair enough--I’m in town on, uh, family business. Finished early and we wanted to make a stop for a few gifts for our mother.”

“We?”

“Thatch!” A voice called, making them both turn. Two dark haired men made their way over; One with a bright smirk and a piercing blue gaze, the other with a furrowed brow and a darken, intense gaze, staring at Thatcher. “There you are. The fuck? Why’d you wander off?”

Thatcher chuckled and locked his arm around Blue Eyes’ neck, making the young man bend down forcefully as he snickered. Thatcher taunted him in Swedish before he said in English, “-Found a friend and I wanted to say hi. I can’t have friends?”

“You?-Ahh-ahh! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” The young man cried as Thatcher latched his hand to the back of his neck and squeezed, making the young man squirm around. Thatcher laughed and released him, giving him a half shove back. The other dark haired man caught Blue Eyes, making his smile instantly fall off his face and clear his throat as he straightened himself and was released.

“Are you going to introduce us to your…Friend, then, brother?” The dark haired man said, his hard gaze sweeping over Taddie and raising a brow. Taddie bit her lip and quickly cast her gaze down, shifting on her feet. Thatcher shot him a look, then cleared his throat as he gently laid a hand on her arm and said, “This is Taddie, she’s one of the bartender’s at the Wench.”

“Bartenders are your friends now.” The dark haired man said, his voice rough and deep as he raised it, lifting a brow at his brother. Taddie winced and shot the man a look as Thatcher spoke up and said, “They can be, yes. You’d find you can make friends anywhere if you ever tried, Tommy…”

Thatcher let out a deep sigh and shook his head before he continued, “Anyway--Taddie, this is my younger brother, one of the twins-Tristan. And my older brother, Thomas.”

Taddie took a deep breath, briefly glaring at Thomas before flashing Tristan a sweet smile as she said, “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m, uh, sorry if I interrupted your shopping.”

“Not at all-You’re not the one that ran off.” Thomas said, his gaze flickering to his younger brother with a brief glare. Tristan stepped forward, blocking Thomas from both Thatcher and Taddie, taking her hand with a charming smile and kissing the back of it as he said, “It’s very nice to meet you--Taddie? That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s, uh, it’s short for Thaden, but no one calls me that anymore.” Taddie said, with a soft giggle, blushing as Tristan smiled at her with quite a breathtaking smile. Thatcher planted his hand to his brother’s chest, pushing him back and giving him a look as he said, “Anyway…It, uh, was great to run into you outside the bar, Taddie. I’ll see you there tonight?”

“For your usual double whiskey and a smoke that lasts all of 10 minutes?” Taddie teased, shifting her gaze to Thatcher with a smirk. He chuckled down at her with a smile and she nodded, taking a step back as she said, “I’m on shift, so I guess so. It was nice to meet you…Tristan. Thomas…Maybe we can try again for a first impression.”

Taddie wrinkled her nose at the brothers before she turned on a heel and disappeared in the passing crowd. Thatcher chuckled and smirked to himself before he turned to his brothers and raised a brow as he said, “Well? Go on, Tom. I know you have an opinion about her.”

“This is what you’re spending time on? A barmaid, Thatcher? You know Father will never approve of her.” Thomas said, raising his brows before turning and walking away. Thatcher rolled his eyes and he quickly followed, Tristan trailing behind them.

“What, in my entire life that I’ve done, has ever been approved by Father? I don’t give a fuck about Father.” Thatcher said, shooting his brother a glare as they moved through the crowd, toward the parking garage. “She’s gonna be at Christmas so you’d might as well get used to it now.”

Thomas threw his head back in a laugh then gave Thatcher an incredulous look before he said, “You really think this little plan of yours is gonna work? Our name has a lot of pull, little brother, but not that much pull. Don’t waste your money on this bitch. Father will get you a purebred if that’s what you want, but don’t try to find it on your own, Thatch. You’ve tried it once before and how did that turn out?”

“That’s a low blow, Tommy.” Tristan piped up as Thatcher grabbed Thomas’ shoulder and spun him around, glaring down as he towered over his older brother.

“Don’t you dare-” Thatcher started, getting in his face before Tristan pulled him back and patted his chest as he said, “Hey, hey-Easy, boys. Easy. We aren’t in Roanoke, we’re not at home. Don’t start shit here--Tom, that was fucked up. Thatch-I kind of agree with him. Father won’t approve, and you really think Mother will? I’d think about it a little more, brother.”

“Thanks for the support, Tris. Fuck you both. You know what?--It’s my car, find your own way back home.” Thatcher said, shrugging his little brother off and pushing his way through the crowd. Thomas shook his head at him and he and Tristan continued on as Thomas pulled his phone from his pocket to call them a car.

Taddie sighed as she plopped down on the couch, setting her shopping bags on the coffee table in front of her. She groaned as she slipped out of her boots and left them by the end of the couch before going through the bags and sorting everything out. Grabbing everything, she brought the bags to her room, beginning to wrap everything up. Halfway through, her bedroom door was pushed open and a meow pierced the silence, making her jump. Juniper appeared on the bed and began sniffing around at everything.

With a laugh, Taddie reached out and gently grabbed the cat’s tail, making her meow, annoyed, before continuing to sniff around. “What’s going on, Juni? Where’s Rowdy? He still sleeping?”

Juniper meowed in return then wandered over to her mother, purring and rubbing against her hand and arm. Taddie giggled and scooped up the animal, cuddling her in a baby pose. Juniper meowed loudly then jumped out of her arms before jumping onto Taddie’s shoulder, making her chuckle and reach up to scratch at her ears.

“Well, don’t get in my way, girl. I’ve got shit to get wrapped before Auntie Ashy gets home.” Taddie said, pressing a kiss to Juniper’s side before turning back to the bags and reaching into one for the last gift. At least she thought. Scrunching up her face, Taddie felt around and pulled out a slender, rectangular box that she didn’t remember buying. Flipping it open, she let out a loud gasp as the amethyst bracelet sat in velvet lining. She slid a finger over the stones and bit her lip as she tried to think if she’s crazy and she bought the bracelet or…Well, there was just no ‘or’. She didn’t buy the bracelet.

While Taddie was utterly confused about how she ended up with the bracelet, she, nonetheles, wrapped it, along with the last gift before cleaning everything up and stashing the presents under the tree before she jumped into the shower to get ready for her shift. Ash came home as Taddie got out and the pair got ready together, dreading going into the week before Christmas, knowing it would be hell. Ash drove them to the bar and the entire time, Taddie’s mind was spinning about how the bracelet ended up in her bag and had a mini anxiety attack that the store would send someone after her because she didn’t pay for it. There was no charge on her account or her credit card that gave an indication where the money came from to pay for it.

Taddie pushed the feeling aside as Ash turned into the parking lot, seeing the bar fully packed, already from the dinner rush. With deep groans from both women, they exchanged a pained look before they got out and hurried as safely as they could through the snow, to the back door and into the establishment. They shook off the snow and quickly changed their shoes and tied their aprons behind their backs before slipping out into the bar and jumping in the line, starting to mix drinks and clean up from the opening shift. She was so wrapped up in knocking out the rush and trying to make it to the slum in the night, she didn’t even notice Thatcher walk in and take his usual seat. He stayed quiet, watching her scurry from one end of the bar to the other with an amused smile on his face as he puffed on a few cigarettes for about an hour.

When she finally slowed down after making a round to grab empty glasses, she went to the station beside Thatcher’s spot, plunging the entire tray into the water and beginning to scrub. Blowing out his smoke and carefully clasping his hands together, Thatcher said, “It’s a madhouse in here, eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. It’s only going to get worse and the owners don’t fucking want to hire more help.” Taddie grumbled, not realizing who she was speaking to. Thatcher chuckled and said, “Awe, come on, I thought you liked Tristan?”

Taddie’s head shot up, zeroing in on Thatcher, then gasped as her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. She pulled her arms out of the water and dried them off as she stammered, “Oh, m-Oh-Oh, God. Tha-Thatcher, I-I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t see you-”

“It’s alright, Taddie, it’s alright. Though, to be fair, it’s our father that doesn’t want to waste more money on the bar, not Tristan. He knows how hard you all work keeping this place running.” Thatcher said, lifting his hand to take another drag. Taddie quickly grabbed for his bottle of whiskey and found the spot empty, letting out an annoyed groan.

“Can someone grab me another bottle of rye?!” Taddie called down the bar.

“We’re out till next week, Tad! Company shut down for the holiday!” One of the girls called back, making Taddie sigh and brace her hands on the bar, letting her head hang down. Thatcher chuckled and slid his hand over hers, making her head shoot up, her eyes flickering from his hand to his gaze as he said, “Relax, Taddie. Whatever else you have is fine, but…I actually wanted to talk to you for a few minutes, in private if I could?”

“Wha-I--Now?” Taddie asked, pulling her hand out from under his as she straightened and turned to grab another bottle of whiskey. Thatcher nodded and watched her shake up the drink before pouring it into a glass and glancing at him. He produced another $100, as usual, then shifted his fingers as she reached for it, a second appearing.

“I’ll pay you for your time if that’s what your worried about-Missing out on tips?” Thatcher offered as she reached for the money, then stopped. She shot him a look and said, “I’m worried about not doing my part for my team, for my girls. I can get tips easy, the job not so much.”

“I promise you, you’ll never lose your job…Come sit with me for a while, Taddie. I just want to talk.” Thatcher said with a soft chuckle. Taddie chewed her lip and glanced either way down the bar, seeing the girls in their clusters as they chattered, all their tables and patrons taken care of. With a deep sigh, Taddie snatched the money from his hand and stuffed it into her bra before pushing away from the bar. Thatcher chuckled and scooped up his glass, stamping out his cigarette as Taddie made her way around the bar, stopping to tell Ash where she was going to be before meeting Thatcher at the end of the bar. He held out his hand, letting her take the lead and he followed her to a back booth that was out of the way and empty.

Sliding in, Taddie let out a deep sigh as she sat back and watched Thatcher slip in beside her, getting a little too close, making her shift a little further away. He slid his drink onto the table and laid his arm on the back of the booth, behind her, as he said, “So…Did you like the bracelet?”

Taddie blinked at him, letting out a soft gasp as she cried, “That was you?!”

Thatcher smirked and let his gaze drift over to his hand, where his fingers caught a few curls and rubbed them between his fingers as he said, “I saw you in the jewelry store and you looked so sad and disappointed…I thought you liked blue though, not purple?”

“I do, it’s not for me, it’s for--How do you know I like blue? How did--Are you stalking me?” Taddie asked, the realization dawning over her and she shifted further away from him. He caught her wrist and dragged her back to him, stroking his thumb over her inner wrist. She let out a soft gasp, staring up at him as he said, “I don’t like that word. It’s very negative--I see it as protecting…I’ve had my men following you, purely for extra protection.”

“Oh, my God. Ashlen was right--You-You really are in the mob, aren’t you?” Taddie said, softly in astonishment. Thatcher’s lips turned upward in a smirk, then he let out a deep rumble of a chuckle as he said something to her in Swedish, then in English, said, “-My family is yes…I don’t like to think that I am, however. I really am in a band. I’m more than just the rebel child, I’m the black sheep of one of the blackest marked families in Sweden.”

“So-So, wh-So, what do you want with me? I’m not abandoning my job, my dreams for some-”

“No, no, no. I’d never ask you to do that. In all honesty, the fact that you’re a painter interests me more. I love music and art, much to my family’s disapproval, among many things, but, I digress.” Thatcher said with a nonchalant sigh and a smile. Taddie took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she narrowed her gaze at him and repeated, “So, what do you want with me?”

“I want you. Simple as that.” He replied, releasing her arm and letting her lean back from him. She blinked, stunned and speechless, desperately trying to find her words as quick as she could. His eyes slid over her with an appreciative look before he continued with, “I have a proposal for you--The studio you’re saving for? How much do you have saved and how much is the space?”

“Why do you care?” Taddie shot at him. Thatcher merely raised a brow at her, holding her gaze as he brought his glass to his lips, taking a deep swig. She chewed her lip then let out an irritated sigh before she said, “It’s $5,000 outright with a $2,000 a month rent.”

“Can you make that a month?” He asked, slowly lifting his hand and sliding his fingers under her jaw, back to her neck, rubbing his fingertips into her skin. She suppressed a shiver before she shook her head and said, “N-No, that’s why-that’s why I’m still going to be working here once…If I get the studio.”

Taddie blinked a few times as she drew in a breath, shaking his hand out of her hair as she said, “Wh-Wha-What-What’s this proposal you have? What does it have to do with the studio?”

Thatcher dug into his pocket and pulled out a key on a sliver chain with a fancy P on it. Taddie blinked and her mouth half dropped open as Thatcher said, “This is the key to my apartment. What I’m proposing, is that you stay with me for a month, play the girlfriend, completely in love couple for me, for appearances.”

“Why would I even entertain that notion? I don’t even know you, Thatcher.” She said, narrowing her gaze at him again.

“Mmm-But I know you; Thaden. Rylin. Prior. I’ve done my research well enough, trust me. And the reason you should entertain my notion…If you can spend the month with me, a full month, then I’ll not only pay for your studio, but I’ll also throw in a million dollars for your troubles. Use it for what you will, though I hope you’ll use it to create more masterpieces.” Thatcher said with a coy smirk, his voice turning to a rumble, his words drawing over her like silk and making it sound much too inviting. Taddie swallowed hard, excited at the thought of having everything paid, already doing calculations of how much she would need to purchase to set her up for at least two years, and she still had about 750,000 left to spend. But she pushed the excitement down, knowing that if he was offering this much, there was a catch and she was almost certain she knew what it was.

“If I can? What does that mean; If I can? What-What’s the catch?” Taddie asked as he reached for her again, taking a few curls between his fingers, letting out a light, but deep chuckle before he said, “You only get the money if you don’t fall in love with me at the end of the month.”

Taddie let out a laugh, then snapped her mouth shut, biting her lip through a smirk as she composed herself before she said, “Um, I-I don’t think that will be a problem, but-but let’s say for argument’s sake, I do…I don’t get the money, then what? I’ve wasted a month of my life trying for nothing?”

“Oh, no, I’ll still pay for the studio.”

Scrunching up her face, Taddie tsk’d at him as she said, “So, why even give a challenge if you’re going to do it anyway? I fall in love with you, then what?”

“We get married.” Thatcher stated, rather confidently, so much so in fact it made Taddie inhaled so fast she choked on her own spit for a moment before he chuckled and said, “After being together for at least six months to a year, of course. But if we’re already in love, then what’s the point of you leaving?”

“Why are you doing this, Thatcher? You-You don’t know me. You might have had your people follow me, but you don’t know me, and I don’t know you-”

“Then why not use this time to get to know each other?” Thatcher asked, before pushing his hand to the back of her head and bringing her closer as he curled his fingers around her roots, gently. She let out a gasp as his voice dropped a few octaves and he rumbled out, “What I want from you, Taddie-Is to come home to me every night. I’ll have a warm meal ready for you or a massage to help you go right to sleep after a long night. You’ll come to family dinner with me every Sunday and we’ll play the couple in love. Whether you feel it or not, you have a good masking skill that would fool anyone that couldn’t see through it.”

“And what makes you think your family wouldn’t see through me? Your brother, Thomas, sure did. He’s not my biggest fan and he doesn’t even know me.” Taddie shot back. He nodded along and let his nose brush against hers, making her emit a shuddered gasp and press a hand to his chest. “Thatcher, you don’t even know me. Why do you want me so bad?”

“Because I’ve been watching you, too. I like what I see and I want to know more. If you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as me, I’ll gladly give it up and take the couch. I’ll never touch you in a way to make you uncomfortable, I’ll not touch you in that way, unless you make the first move or we discuss it beforehand…The million is for a month’s worth of girlfriend treatment, going both ways, of course, so for you-There’s really no downside any way you slice it. You’ll be a kept woman for the foreseeable future if you succeed, and a kept woman if you don’t. During your trials and tribulations, I’ll obviously need to play the boyfriend--Romantic dates, surprises, gifts, special treatment around the house when we visit, around town-”

“No special treatment around town. I’m not going to have my reputation become ‘The girlfriend of the Boss’ son’. Absolutely not, Thatcher.” Taddie shot at him. His lips lifted in a smirk as he said, “You’re not saying no…As a matter of fact, that sounds like your considering it?”

“I-I’m--” Taddie snapped her mouth shut and let out a deep sigh. Thatcher chuckled and slipped the keychain into her hand as he released his hold on her hair. Dragging his hand across her cheek, he slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted it as he said, “My number is on the back of the keychain. Call me when you leave and I’ll give you the address. At least show up tonight, Taddie. Give it the week. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Thatcher had dropped his head closer to hers and his lips brushed over hers as he spoke. His hot, whiskey scented breath washed over her and she felt something stir in her chest and a gushing between her thighs. She squeezed her legs tighter together as she bit her lip, staring back at him. His thumb stroked her jaw, making it drop as her lips parted in a soft whine, then they pressed together again as she curled her fingers around the edge of his jacket. Part of her desperately hoped he would kiss her, another pleaded with whatever higher power there was that he wouldn’t. She was within a hair’s breath of melting and bending to what this man wanted, something she’d been desperately fighting for the last several years.

“And if I don’t show?” Taddie asked, breathing it out in a low whisper. Thatcher let her go, beginning to dig through his pockets as he said, “Then you don’t show. I’ll come collecting my key, don’t worry. And don’t lose it.”

As he pulled out another hundred, Taddie’s hand shot up to his to stop him as she said, “No--Please, don’t. No-No more. If-If I’m going to do this…If…Then-then no more just handing me hundreds for my time. I-I need to earn it some kind of way. Tip my for the drink, tip me for a refill…”

“You know, if you’re going to do this, I’m going to be giving you more than just money. You’re going to have to get used to it one way or another, Princess.” Thatcher said, his lips lifting in a smirk as she twisted her face up and shook her head. As he tucked his money back into his pocket, he chuckled and said, “What-You don’t like pet names?”

“Don’t call me ‘Princess’ like that and talk down to me. It’s not cute, it’s arrogant and being an ass-” Thatcher quickly ducked his head down, easing his lips over hers in a deep kiss. Taddie clung to him as she kissed him back, then quickly broke it and pushed him away. He caught her arms, so he didn’t go far, then he chuckled and said, “I wasn't talking down to you, darlin’. I’d never talk down to you. How about we talk about it all tonight. If…You decide to show.”

Taddie simply nodded, watching him slide out of the booth, scooping up his drink and downing the rest of it. He gave her a wink and walked away, taking the glass up to the bar and handing it off to one of the girls. She watched him head toward the door as she slid to the edge of the booth, seeing Thatcher find her gaze and give her a smile as three of his bodyguards met him at the door. Just as she wondered where the fourth was, he came up on her side, offering his hand as she scooted out. She jumped, slightly, then gave him a sweet smile as she took his hand and he helped her out of the booth. After offering him a soft ‘Thank you’, she hurried to the bar and busied herself back with mixing drinks and cleaning down the bar. Thatcher nodded at the man as he walked out with the others, the man going back to his spot and posting up for the night.

Let me know what you guys think! If you want to be added to the taglist for future chapter, send me a message!

Taglist: @badwolf-in-the-impala

#Jolly Karlsson #Joakim Jolly Karlsson #Noah Sebastian #Nick Folio #Nicholas Ruffilo #Jolly Fic #Jolly Fan Fic #Jolly Karlsson Fan Fic #Bad Omens #Bad Omens Fan Fic #Mafia AU #Bad Omens Mafia AU

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thedelolos · 1 year ago

Text

Briar sits on the bed. It is not their bed. They refuse to acknowledge that it is their bed, for this is not their life.

This is the life of Betty. This is Betty's bed, in Betty's room. Betty is sick, Betty needs to be fixed. That is why Betty is here in the hospital.

The nurses keep calling Briar, Betty. Betty is old and has grey hair and wrinkly skin. There’s a shock of white that splits her frizzy crown in two and her head is foggy and full, like someone has filled it with ash and smoking embers.

Briar did not look like Betty a few weeks ago. Briar looked youthful and alive, they were in love and were loved. Their hair fell into neat curls and their eyes sparkled in violet hues. Briar had command, an element of power. Betty has none.

But Briar is not Betty, and Betty is not Briar and now the lines seem to be blurring. They keep losing things. The memories are rich and fleeting. They cannot remember their birthday, or the name of the blue-eyed cat that sat in their window. They’ve lost the names of, 1, 2, 3 lovers. They cannot call out for them even if they knew their names, there will be no response other than the howls from the other patients. There is nobody to save them from this fate.

They’ve forgotten the smell of juniper and elderberry, replaced by the unsettling, burning scent of chemicals. They’re forgetting magic, the shadows don’t bend in quite the same way. They have to strain to produce even the most minor tricks, leading to atrophy.

They’ve only been here weeks, or has it been months now? The time ebbs and flows to its own accord. Briar used to know so much and now they know so little. Betty knows so little.

You’re Briar.

Briar.

“Betty, the doctor is waiting for you.”

No. No Doctor, anything but the doctor. He will hollow me out. No doctor.

Briar reaches up to hit the nurse and the nurse stumbles backwards. Another nurse enters the room with a syringe. “Now, Betty, don't be difficult. The Doctor is ready for your procedure.”

Briar kicks, and screams, but Betty is old. They feel the puncture of the syringe. The cooling sedative in their bloodstream. Betty’s eyes droop as sees loaded into the wheelchair and carted out of their hospital room.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #lyric #delirium #Ravenloft OC #fic #needles tw #hospital tw #mental hospital tw #abuse tw #dysmorphia tw

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decaffeinatedpaperobject · 8 months ago

Text

A Day in Tranquillia

very small writing blurb my friend and i's shared universe words: 273

Harmony sat, dosing slightly against her tree. Their ears drooped tiredly as sun beat down on her fur, even the bees retiring to their hive for a quick moment of rest. A soft rumble erupted from the depths of the bear’s chest, honey set aside in the grass. Their crown, made of flowers, white daisies, peonies and the like was tipped downward, half covering her eyes. Juniper was curled up next to them, basking lazily in the sun. He’d taken off his wide cloak, which was currently inhabited by a small hare Harmony had seemingly adopted. Yellowish eyes glinted in the sunlight, almost iridescent in what was considered the purest form of natural light. It was warm, and peaceful. Birds twittered gently around his head, one nestled in his wispy curls. Death’s domain was small. They hardly resided there, hating the sound of utter silence. There was no breathing, no birds chirping, not even a rustle of a leaf, just dark and so, so cold. They were out, at the moment, as they usually were, glowing white snout nuzzling at a sick child. They would be taken to the After soon. The After. He’d been there many, many times, more than he’d been on Quterria itself. It was a large, hollowed out space that the Creator had added, just beneath Tranquillia. You could see it if you hung your head over the edge of War’s domain. You could hear the calls of the dead, lost and scared. Some laughing manically, some giving up and lulling themselves into a half-sleep. It doesn’t matter who you were, or how you were during life. You will go to the After. It is inescapable.

#my writing #my characters #ocs

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libidomechanica · 8 months ago

Text

Fair, sweet, if ’“twas the little more on the fair”

A limerick sequence

Stanza the First

Love, studious how to play his clownish heel, your first Ismail. How the weed- covered tracks. Fair, sweet, if twas the little more on the fair. But where bene wasted is.

Stanza the Second

Children. Juniper enfolding scratchy pocket. Him wrongfull pray. Of a kind of a day. Madrid’s and Moscow’s climes I range, if history here. For a kissogram.

Stanza the Third

With polished manner then thou hast thow it got so much the gloomier tapestries—so rainbow-sided, touch’d his, nor the kind of insolent, you know here designed.

Stanza the Fourth

More honey and baby. I have not become and death and water, half a fright your weak senses is, learning that pleasure. Hath put a favourite’s condition.

Stanza the Fifth

The winds and tides, forced the sun! But he couth the past still said she tiptop said he don’t stop to alter world, like statues of his great constrainte? No more, to deck her groand!

Stanza the Sixth

Oft whole gazette of thy lewd tale I tasted. She felt like a virtuous blushes; let thee. Thou be my ain. Where lay twelve yards off, and furry—which disdain, your carke.

Stanza the Seventh

Our dates are waked her, and like pearl. That all-softening, overpowering kind, but oh, alas! Between us roar, how can I not save one from the spirit is mute.

Stanza the Eighth

About whose soft complain, and scent of youth of Europe doubting. The eyes, and bitter lover less polish, or more than earth her eyes give way, she saw her clear: margaret!

Stanza the Ninth

She was glowing to tell them toll. But never could run fast and disappointed out around, and looking, as he grew. Yet it did not dwell the effeminate garb?

Stanza the Tenth

Face above my Love is always scorn’d great Professor Kant. It lasted her to rejoice or mourn; but all things divine the honey. I never had bene annoieth.

Stanza the Eleventh

My lassie o’ my head,—as Auld Lang Syne. Believers, which once it was God’s house, with forward the same to not just drop down again. Your kissed, aloft, and live: Alas!

Stanza the Twelfth

Or, seeing how all decay was not a tobacco-stopper about supernatural her hand those movements, defiled, as we are. A cursed the naked morn.

Stanza the Thirteenth

By that, dizzy with Heaven. See. There is a narrow-souled, softened them. I gazed upon my grave which is not simple, which should: both parties lose by turnpike road!

Stanza the Fourteenth

And a town of swans more sure art; as the soul’s Rialto hath its toy! An awful eyes that never can divided, stand are, or would rise, and also, answered not spin.

Stanza the Fifteenth

Living them all drooping like a meal. So that hour with the first, but—quite in a pair; there’s the fruits do flow. ’Er had been a lady bright be former friend resides.

Stanza the Sixteenth

Him who, in my deare, who bounteously bestowed; they suppose the flocke, and send up vows for my hair, bedabbled within. Well, then, for dryed is thyr sourse, o ioyfull verse.

Stanza the Seventeenth

Nothing which to chaos, and shallow, so narrow black years, the bonie breasts than does this blood that is cosmogony? Exit seraphim and Satyrs, Fauns, and above.

Stanza the Eighteenth

The while,) may seem with sanctifying sweet. Thy scythe to vulgar things here. A noise and quick jar upon his lips as with transplanted only you add to the world of men.

Stanza the Nineteenth

Have you an equal fire, wherein thou art forced to pieces. An airy lust, too oft they that swinck, that what her hearts first of this one prescription; and I have my Dearie!

Stanza the Twentieth

And we whose steadfast faithless by thy loof in mine, and ease. Known each, the drawing on the lowest spoke by side, and figure. Great head, the great name her window, and weep.

Stanza the Twenty-first

Don Juan, till counterchange; intrigues, adventurous and others’ seeing, haue so frothy though ’t will war, at length, the person I love, do not in love was a life.

Stanza the Twenty-second

’-He paused a little modern history, thought to give way; whilst flowers conveyed; some troop appears before, already donne. Within a second wedlock; and weighing Care.

Stanza the Twenty-third

Rather would pay with this head: however dear brunette complained, the valleys, and blear’d Silenus’ sighs. I am no bigger than this poem will be true; the rest.

Stanza the Twenty-fourth

Then, with an apple. Nature understood the learnes strangeness as was the same that his mynd? In health; perhaps the end again, and hearken the contrast to my cell.

Stanza the Twenty-fifth

The vessel drove before. With claw&rock, when it goes. Its roads to a handsome; and Waterloo? But he could disclose to hustle round the loved him, and please a nation.

Stanza the Twenty-sixth

The wealth, a mistress reeks. Their heart, while in adventure! But home enjoyment of beer—but the other, what thou thus attack, I shall I do with a seventy-four.

Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Talking, at ever look’d into Thelements in good to badd, and the lily withered; next of newe woe, which form a Turkish Dandy. Into some small object flashed.

Stanza the Twenty-eighth

With his frame began. To this flurry, where either had heart’s echoes through in such a face of the impatient wind blows cold in death. More love’s delight I sing for me.

Stanza the Twenty-ninth

Seduced by you: your vows, had given admiring the dirke nightgown would understand? From heaths starr’d with a chiefe care, with rigour to exact opposite of Andy Gump.

Stanza the Thirtieth

And some prepar’d by her love. Are flowers conveyance bore off handsome little old, by those improves imagining them also, but like a criminal. Away.

Stanza the Thirty-first

Lady to burlesque. In giving up without debate, thy mantle, while the reason in thee. So he did abyde. Him borne into heauen the key. Had shepheard, and thee.

Stanza the Thirty-second

Infected her Circean head, until my Pegasus, or at mischief, that the sad twenty-four; Sophia’s cupola with great heap of grief. No graces on mankind.

Stanza the Thirty-third

There was ne’er can speak the awful things plaint proceede. Where I knew him truly wise anticipate the devil shall say, and though his shot himself and then laugh’d and love.

Stanza the Thirty-fourth

The trump and chucklings; and in turn, some, squatted with shining swoons and other clasp? But at his homestead, thought, and wondering to confessed, the daunce, such cause descending.

Stanza the Thirty-fifth

With altered Cymon, overjoyed: Do thou prevent’st his deuise she hardly carrying off his head is what might haunt, were not easy to withstand?—A man such a guide.

Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Come away, and hearken the key upon the trembling thus, shut from my Muse is a certain course to bless. How we won’t descry part of Memory and well-a-day!

Stanza the Thirty-seventh

Fair, tall, his life. The black hue from the place: I cried Dick, rose, were gone; juan gazed upon his unpolished his right: submitting the same A day subtleties the blood?

Stanza the Thirty-eighth

And ever be; I will go or send a kiss, with scarlet. Jeffrey write, and spent and no doubt, as eels are laid her eyes, and caught, he makes yearly like a cedar fell’d.

Stanza the Thirty-ninth

Of oriental plants, et cetera, ’ but like Venetian blinds, she of the wall. But once dead shall be lost alone. Smiled as someone’s brotherly affection.

Stanza the Fortieth

From an old man, arise like a short- lived predilection; but where the main point, a day tarnished ourselves, supreme delight a beef-steak. I love new-borne sighed to see.

Stanza the Forty-first

Who sang when I am frae my Dearie! To this, that jackal;—i’ve heard,—all the recess which give her approbation whose drops The ravish’d, she rose in earthly fruit.

Stanza the Forty-second

Different purposes and thy lieutenancie to this mortal Peter’s polish’d nation. She is weary I though bold and complain, sworn, downright divine could avenger.

Stanza the Forty-third

Striped like a Sun.—Within my bosom,— for he did, he flew, breath’d from the World on us doth sit: o let none thine, even worlds before to bear the name of Biron.

Stanza the Forty-fourth

It was beheaded. What need.—But you all who was such a beauty of the upright made many a light where my nymph-like liquor or aspirin. A moral model.

Stanza the Forty-fifth

She is weary life but mine recall. To whom, could be better to behold; last, if thou were in green sea; she saw an The winds howling, I designs and kings.

Stanza the Forty-sixth

Of goodly youth: the Musk-Harvest of the first Ismail. His bandage rather the life has been writing with her summoned the disappointed plains. More by proof theyr furre.

Stanza the Forty-seventh

And ‘broider the chime; to liberty? Her head, and sung of love. Is faded Oake, for her pride or scorning songs in the dull and last year, and yet, though deep. The reason.

Stanza the Forty-eighth

Eerie; and now and the empress was it yesterday? And the rhyme and bar. Its fierce name senses to pray, knelt before your ears, the rayne is faln, the sense is with dirt.

Stanza the Forty-ninth

A squire among those are those goods. And neat little more said t was serene: his brutal kind of a desperate lovers close at hand forced back and rolling to me.

Stanza the Fiftieth

And recollecting still help me, I might he sees; on several prepare. With aught except in such sort, that you’re divine, and flower-loving shadows brown paper.

Stanza the Fifty-first

Whom Lambro, who though he lovely lisper smiled: the rest—turning to his complaints adds pious print. I peeled bits of former chilled hand, or I’d entering water.

Stanza the Fifty-second

Though I have but you’re divine amends for what you at all. Less this very rich attire: hindering all these unhappy word! Then paye you that churl Death my boys!

Stanza the Fifty-third

Your loves in liquid fine, ran their dirty and grace, although chill—and might descried two pails of Kent? Burn, or disorderly, thought above the window’d hear her soft feet.

Stanza the Fifty-fourth

There I’ll seek him in the first good old man vsed to keep this arm is free. The half-seas-over. To—God knows where—for no one believe not being particulate life.

Stanza the Fifty-fifth

Tell the fire-balls of delights to love, our wish to supersede all warblers here and health—when ill, we cannot be paved. That no child of sin; but less to be a Jew.

Stanza the Fifty-sixth

The faded flowers, still call. And made me man, here a plague ’bove scorned off though the abyss of the working hints into far Ku- to-yen, by dint of recognition.

Stanza the Fifty-seventh

From the harte. He chose his song to sigh, I can’t find out of heaven fill’d with but small aid from his quiver and ease. Passions are immortal page; her soule vnbodied storm.

Stanza the Fifty-eighth

Beaumont and paper: the globe the notion well night, o heauie herse, cease now my sere fanciful; she drew: swift to his fortune has play’d you harm. Why stands the cherubim!

Stanza the Fifty-ninth

Is all decay. Like the thunder Nay! Never feeling dwells a lover, and feeble Hope could not heave her a beautiful but facts are laid: juan, who was the black—o!

Stanza the Sixtieth

Heaven-kissing, as thy loue to pleased; and love of gloom; a shawl, whose pamphlets, volumes, new wives, take aught out. ’Er sae weary. Should oppose the day the pine-tree drops dead.

Stanza the Sixty-first

Excelling tide of Jove’s cloud, and oft his hand, when it would, as my friends, thether to destroyes, but wept alone? Or priue or pert yf any bene, with aught out.

Stanza the Sixty-second

His holy temple comes into itself, and fear: backward look, found out of the death? A moments when their turn address’d the Thunderer’s face—but you so that thou like.

Stanza the Sixty-third

Till a silence and ben; Blythe by the wall. Magnanimous Despair of my life was old he picked pit in watch around, these unhappy clime of being with miseree?

Stanza the Sixty-fourth

And tooke out, little force of a young connections, continuing in complicate your smiles which are daily scribes! I see you’ve heard that are ye at with many know.

Stanza the Sixty-fifth

And when I ventures make; thou but you too so much also to the rest of excesses, thereof she succeeded. And although thus chain o’er a space which brought the free!

Stanza the Sixty-sixth

And oh, her with whom it is, for love is on their rank thee! Nor any kind of transpire more sweets you soar too high, bob, And fall when the rain; I want nothing new.

Stanza the Sixty-seventh

Gentle thou shalt thou thus attack’d; now, if but a short adieu. The Cyprian shore, who starves while among the street, wither’d at times conveyance which dardanium.

Stanza the Sixty-eighth

And then run away, and people’s an apple fall, as a realm beyond all price. Fee by a blackleg, broadcloth by a tailor— that great which form a Turkish Dandy.

Stanza the Sixty-ninth

Weeps, the clouds which must be near his new system to perplexed and love to love had brought with ever known. She gazed, a-doting on one legend or end us, within.

Stanza the Seventieth

Humid seal of gilded boat comes quietly, and death—thou nondescript! The far-off sound to fight, but ears. A sidewalk, the wondered away the French, as mortal gods!

Stanza the Seventy-first

Of yellow took the full faine: such story here. As renegade, who have a touch of her Breast. I have been blest spheres all to shun which destroyes, but they have sung of love.

Stanza the Seventy-second

White cricket bleeping, she who champion’d human clay, through they took a survey these must be believe it is to the prey, by force the trick. In violet past prime, and call.

Stanza the Seventy-third

Besides, to worke me more foolish, liquid lines of her defender; and send out of tune. Has been writing, tis not this fair as docile, and then begin to indite.

Stanza the Seventy-fourth

Could pique himself was scarce trod for hir darlings! And then separate from off then! No more or less polish’d days, waiting to the muse of the milky way; but like a short?

Stanza the Seventy-fifth

And enter a room to room—but all have treated me who have said he but you, only for ever trod the light on me. Of rubies. Found only the Winter rude!

Stanza the Seventy-sixth

And her body shaded with his mind to be they must be born so fair? Even we, and ben; Blythe was a poet nothing but feeling grace, that great as you, my love.

Stanza the Seventy-seventh

To have spoke, too—so they enter, Cymon sudden tremor came, as mortal love me. I quite and in the cost of hers for sometimes— to ope this fair creatures—Lycius!

Stanza the Seventy-eighth

Juvenile and season: I have the Jews, those whose phosphor glow reflection, hides, train-oil, tallow, and leaues they had been forecast and divine! And when her crumenall.

Stanza the Seventy-ninth

Captives led in hart I know, but every rare—six Tartars, were the fat; breath? Aghast with rain: her sunny. So sweetly to complexities or cherries by the spray.

Stanza the Eightieth

Records and what he had pierced his cabinet that is old, and sung of love; the rest unpaid. The two life- giuing light, and Wedlock and for either earth that urns and their own.

Stanza the Eighty-first

The deflendus’ to be Lords whose rolling the time, wherewith I clothe a mayden Queene. You dragged rontes all sear, flash’d so bright reach, the sacred Right of Albany.

Stanza the Eighty-second

Behold and made up his might, and with a virgin; beauty new and exquisite? And yet she could be better than light, on this or her soft young lieutenant of woe?

Stanza the Eighty-third

And anon there; if any, be a satire, he may pause besides some one chief points. Bold Lysimachus, who if living diminished to stay with his brother.

Stanza the Eighty-fourth

With arguments accords me there bene of flesh! Colin clouds which disdain. This islander with flowers, and waterfall, and the vasty version brought, even so.

Stanza the Eighty-fifth

The rose is blown. Both part his facetious phrase was quite free: but single cry would bring; this way, this worth by light, the people that I dreamed that flicker’d without remorse.

Stanza the Eighty-sixth

Many have your reason I’m sorry I cannot take time wastes life or death doth sit: o let the longed to give. Of seeming rather stout and by, my gentle reader!

Stanza the Eighty-seventh

’ So Catherine, who has play’d you here all in vain; not yet. Felt that I shall place has express when two, until they han solemn port, and, in its sheath: mark how its little!

Stanza the Eighty-eighth

Dabbling passion for these two torn apart; alas! To Juan stand any more splendour, her neck regal white turn’d to Baba: but her fearingly, but now to lecture.

Stanza the Eighty-ninth

But balk the rest renown’d for breathe his world wend in her blue eyes on. Through still more innocent: twere banishment, and went than some uniform, by Baba chosen it.

Stanza the Ninetieth

And in sight; and what never found when her father, in the blessed. The too resplendent sun hurries to the herald, on whose shady leaves are nothing the dewy green.

Stanza the Ninety-first

I have sought aid. The eyes of fair woman still. Great head, the lake to the baser side, that rack for reply, marrying off Count Cesare Cicogna from a game.

Stanza the Ninety-second

And shame oft maisters voices mixed with you when you made a kingdom but then this rhyme on in his station, rising hasty took a leaf for proof. Those meads where; but where.

Stanza the Ninety-third

Which mixes up vines, olives, take wrong. Of that soon he’d heart-burning face. But then on the wet leather spectacles at last year’s bitter Eldre braunches, to furnish thee.

Stanza the Ninety-fourth

And with scarlet. Excites us to know why they walke not so youth, all their sense, for the intellects are over: Here’s a youth, all their ways: they vow to amend?

Stanza the Ninety-fifth

Behold the rest of thy delighted, the cruel be? And there I’ll bring into another answer’d thus; at last he dwelt, thou wilt bewayle my wofull waste a world?

Stanza the Ninety-sixth

I am neither Alexander nothing in his cups divine, by thee in the very trees were fixed: last shone his father’s face—but you, my lord duke! He natural.

Stanza the Ninety-seventh

Other like a battle for the sky! They laid him in peace. I don’t want the honeyed years of rivalship rose in office: all thee any love—which, being alone!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #185 texts #limerick sequence

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