Not for nine years has Odette known a hairbrush in her rectangle dress where the veins grow redwhite against a flat pink churchfloor with taupe crossing Narthex Odette. Eight fingers there since she needs them.
Heirophant Odette who one August met Kilth. All across her ramified thinking she recalls thirty cows in a paddock stinking for lack of space and the spoiling colour that’s roan, hay, offal, drops of milk, big eyes, buckets. Beside the hills cows locked in a paddock with the wrecks of cars. Odette checked the catch——locked. Odette tore the catch and passed through the gate because of Feeling. It was sensation finally, it is the very first sensation to stand by the open rusted gate and feel the heifers pressing past, Odette holds her arms high and feels every rib against hers, muscle’s gear moving in the flanks with ponderous gentle brushing-by, thirty cows slowly pouring out, they are oval slow barley dirty in a wood sieve and among them Odette. It is the very first sensation to tear the catch and pass through the gate because of Feeling, it is lime on the tongue. Zoar Kilth is there. Zoar is quick in a suit of mail and bludgeons her with a hammer. Dying Odette recalls all across her ramification, the needles flex, sap stiffens, she recalls lifting a crushed skull and her mouth, palsied, said: Then——
Her body was left on a heap of burning tires and the shavings of things. Her blood has spread and dried beneath her like a birch trunk, thin and punctuated. That night they broke the rough perimeter of heifers to steal her away.
In the stone chapel Odette. The windows longsince boarded and painted maroon with a bucket fire there. What’s left of city grid now——bucket fires——15 buildings in This District S, wide lots reclaimed by Queen Anne’s lace. They carried Odette through these lots so carefully, held her level, the stiff dead Queen Anne’s lace waving stiffly, tips of the Queen Anne’s lace now like little bone cages keeping dead seed. They pay regard to stencil numbers building to building but it’s been nine years since anyone policed This District S. To a structure: blocky Colonial or Dutch Colonial, Georgian Colonial; red brick; grey slate roofs; every window a maroon board; a vent here and there. Dead Odette carried in the stone chapel. She was young Druidic here and old Druidic, never handsome Odette, never quite fit, sturdy and plain like the shepherdess, never sat alongside someone in that swing Odette, No Wholeness Fully Worth Having she thinks, cool, turgid, sage, now they lay Heirophant Odette on a bier made from two pews with their backs torn off.
Scarlett Dax. All four are silent but Dax: A few days ago M Odette said How can I be happy with all the dying about me Scarlett, the unspooling pain how, I see you’d like me to smile but how and I thought she was in dramatic mood so I said M Odette in hopes of helping her see, Odette you’ll only visit more of that hurt on yourself if you feel so deeply but don’t set a series of acts to dull it. And she said: It’s insincere to dull it or avoid the desperation of this pain by thinking it can be got at. Let a cut mark me. Let heifers dying in a pen mark me, let the old man convulsing of thirst. There. I just must feel it.
Now they lay her down on a bier.
Scarlett puts on High Boar’s Mask just lacquered and the tusks are sharpened mulberry root. Enough lacquer smells like peach she thinks. The straps tug her hair. The others carefully pull Odette’s clothes away. Where the rivulets of her blood dried——so much like lands. And the dry thicker streams are like blotchy prints of feather pulled across décolleté and on her loose breasts. The tubs of steaming water and also of soaking almonds are brought in and raspberry emollients, jars, the tools. Dax makes the incision along Odette’s side with all surety. Also one just above the sternum, coin-size, giving them pause. She crosses two wide long blunt pins here to stay the skin from shutting and lays a leaf over.
What’s in the room is injury belonging to Heirophant Odette. There is nothing of the cows moving in grass. There is a hammer wielded from the back that meant ambush, disengagement, quick win. Scarlett can locate it now. The others are uneasy too but springs are so myriad in this moment the space becomes a matter of median overwhelm, mean overwhelm, here beside Odette, is it just her ablution, the wood wicks cracking in candles, the orange incense? Scarlett can locate it now and doesn’t she shift her weight lightly, in a moment she’s attending the head and using a sliver hook to pull the brain slowly through Odette’s crushed nose, it is careful work but Dax is moved, dropping long uneven strands of the brain into a dish of rose water, curling and flexing the hook with more stillness and chill angle than a seamstress. And it is only her surety that makes Kir’Aiden respond when she says Now we will bring the head off and like James pack it with cinnamon. The knife.
She levered the knife between some vertebrae and brought off Odette’s head. It was simple because so many holds and ropes had been torn loose by Kilth’s blow. Kir’Aiden receives the head on a bolster. The spine stood straight and rounded from the neck like a salt finial. Dax pours honey from a ewer.
A little blood has welled about the slit on Odette’s side since Scarlett made incision out of turn. A linen cloth dips into the long-soaking almonds, drawing out the milk, and meets the wound coolly. Speaking from west niche Kir’Aiden says That was the act of Third Direction Scarlett Dax. But Scarlett is now wetting the left lung with wine. Liver is drying. At the good eye socket in Odette Kir lifts the retina, snips the nerve, slides a waxed lozenge of citrine into place. At the smashed eye socket in Odette he triple-layers bright saffron paste. Cinnamon is there waiting and the Canopic jars to accept bladder both lungs and the rest. Soil has a very varied perfume.
After certain business two wide long blunt pins. Six days going by.
A great terror to feel was rising in Odette. The veins——are they cords, ‘connective tissue,’ diagonal, rays scabrous with nerveends——suspended in all her limbs and her chest like threads in gel. She was filling with air solution, just-liquid wind as the air is; the veins hung there off the shores of her subcutaneous tissue, bluegreen; about centered; wobbling but steady; and the dry heart that had been slid back in from the side; and the pancreas just below where Scarlett plant the seed-solvent. She grew into feeling she wore a rectangle dress where the veins grow redwhite against a flat pink churchfloor with taupe crossing Narthex Odette. Up beneath her folded white collar a woody system wove around the nub of spine where the head used to be and this part now is a bluepoint juniper or a thick pine two feet wide, lush tight spiny bushiness, a sculptor’s ramification branch to branch, apices like flaming bluegreen chevrons caught in ice, shining, and the trunk was about three feet high. I am seething to know me she thought and sat up.
A bowl of long-soaking almonds sees a ranging-into-sensory Odette who ought to be dead. She appears to be gathering outlines and interiors in a great compass of attention. She raises hands before her, examining. She stands and passes her bluepoint face over spent orange incense that begins burning in reverse. In the ambulatory maroon boards disintegrate over the rose window and light and a lemon ash are there. Two rats that had died in the apse wake and look up. When she speaks in the stone chapel it is like a gathering of wind in glens, demanding built silences on both sides of its appearance. Like her bluepoint juniper were water a breeze rolls sinuously across and she says I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—i innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be—me. One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .
Scarlett returns with two others and first notices light streaming in from the ambulatory and the scent of navel orange and then naturally the empty bier. Hareton exclaims gruffly The body has been stolen and Scarlett says No. A woman is at the threshold with a basket and it is filled with bosc pears and mushrooms and says It’s nearly winter and we found the gardens very full overnight. If we dry these properly we’ll eat well into April. Next the 90s Chevrolets will fill with fuel and I’ll drive to Montpelier. What’s happened.
Kir’Aiden is in the ambulatory holding a piece of maroon board one point of which is twisted into the stem of an open gourd, the other point still smoking apart.
On the way to Slick Pond they see things are overgrown. Scarlett knows where to go——to Slick Pond. Itinerant overgrown as if an aspergil sprayed growy incandescence this way and that without a wielder ever making footfall. Beside two scrub oaks grew quivering 20.6 ft webcaps in the attitude of a Schiele gouache. Also flowers and also terrible squash and raspberry. The path was in some need too and Hareton picked a wiry bramble from his left greave. TV antenna grow here now he muttered and for once Dax smiled.
For once Dax was agape. They passed through the hazy long-term dweomer that hid the sacred grove Slick Pond and so strongly present and livid is the back of Odette that twentyso hummingbirds dipped at her circumference and when they touched air dented violet and gassed away. Aren’t they nourished.
M Odette says Scarlett Dax.
She turns slowly with an awfully ebullient power, she is so vivid, like Good-Heathcliff-of-the-Pond-and-Saturating. She is holding a huge ax and Heirophant Odette says with her summoning wind I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards 4:04 is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be lying in the clover Then—me. One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .
No one pretends to understand a thing.
Kir’Aiden steps back as if struck, clutching his symbol. Are you holy he asks.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might Hardly. this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its inna
Scarlett is agape. Hareton’s kneeling. How do you carry Cherry Heirloom M Odette she asks.
She speaks like the gathering of wind in glens, demanding silence on both sides of its appearance. Like her bluepoint juniper were water a breeze rolls sinuously across. Grasses lean in.
emplo D Scarlett y this shiv to stab through, but Dax could you believe B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards 4:04 is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs I enter the crypt and lifted Cherry Heirloom knowing the curse. stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me. One never saw an It shined alive, the varnish poured over it
from unseen source in a cherry light all except the ax- auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. head that stained itself the matte gummy sheen-color of glistening tar and the blade-edge a lick of bright blue-black. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be I walked feeling right. Then—me. One I walk feeling right with Cherry Heirloom and here never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the t Erunk we are of B. Willow, . . when I lit on branch fifth, I was .
No one understands but Odette is holding the massive ax and a pack of emu make peck along the bank of Slick.
might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards Now beneath this pitch? It’s ashall we visit mes sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the oozevaches ça va OK am in a hollow bole, I fell my friends down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—m e.
Each by each they step aslant from a sequoia near Zoar’s Keep. Walking for a moment. A high harvest moon of course. One of those last autumn evenings where you’re sure a canoe abuts the beach edge. Grapes that will become a bottle of icewine cool into knowing what it’s like to have sweet resource condensed in a single drop. Fated-for-choice and high loyal friendship. Handsome dark Hareton in red scale chewing a piece of hay, silhouette is weaponry, + quick pointed Kir’Aiden always in thought, poison nettle steepeth, + the Scarlett Dax, prize, daunting, past able, chestnut and washed jade, + Heirophant Odette whose step snaps with uncommon report. Much later the bride of the fox will count seeing these four her life’s charge. And even as they break the forest verge and sense Kilth’s presentation it is hard to look up. Each has found a certain bit of herself in refusing stealth. And that refusal reddens as four single refusals together, they are around its bucket fire in mind until they must decamp, regard. They’ve been walking the beachedge of their own bodies.
fixed in the ooze Zoar OK am in a hollow bole, I fellI f says Odette. And he has gathered the tedious troop knowingly, they make a decent posse standing about in the meadow. He has gathered the troop though Hareton is indomitable and Kir intractable and Scarlett inestimable, the very mind of winter. In an act of earnest theatre Heirophant Odette lifts an arm parallel to the field and alights from Nothing a barn owl of wingspan 30 ft and tenebrous many——!——jetblack eyes like Zero’s Neighbor. Also speckling feather by the moon and dire talons like clicking in the tower. In the other hand Cherry Heirloom.
This tedious troop says Hareton and Odette finds it meet.
The four move like dark water.
Kir’Aiden calls lightning all across——falling’s spectacle and so cinematic. With whipping of his spiked flail——chain in weaponblack——Hareton is like——chrome dexterity, killing. Scarlett is that Enemy Swan and ten grunts fold in fours as she passes. Nor does a brown hair move.
Zoar Kilth’s personal guard step to defend him from Odette. Owl’s in the air, buoyant for a full minute on two big flaps. She is terrifying and lifts a great spectral peal. Almost four thousand rooks rise and hover. Spiders bud on backs of spiders. Spiders bud on backs of spiders every one casting webs more than naturally so webs buck thorax to thorax far afield making every fly a spectator. Stars duplicate in the dew. I’m crying.
4:04 is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be lying in the clover, Zoar Then—me. One n. er saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fift I will is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs twist your people stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be ly into positions you cannot imagine. ing in the clover Then—me. One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of Call nd w them en I sca off Willow, when I lit on —ch fifth, I wa
A great guffaw is Kilth like in console games. With lovely flourish Heirophant Odette spins oblique upswinging circle as defenders rush and close, cutting thick swaths out the center of chests in a continuing revolution. That cut. Like a sudden painted sash. No mercer’s seen a velvet like it, colouring in time to a body falling, purplish cones bursting at wound’s hems and a slow close of blood-curtain very surprised it has such space to rush into and meet the earth in crumpled shapes.
Kilth and Odette rush too like lovers in a console game, lockedt. They parrystrike beautifully and lock once again. Do you think you and your heifers are holy Zoar says. The hilt of his hammer is burning to cinders against gorgeous Cherry Heirloom though he holds fast. Do you think you and your heifers are holy. Do you think you and your heifers are holy.
Locked near-face-high to face and like her bluepoint juniper were water an ice breeze rolls across needles stiffen, sap’s turgid, and a mighty volley of them discharge, rigid like the tips of arrows and make of Zoar’s décolleté a hedgehog recto, his face is riddled with tips and so in eighths. And as Zoar cries out and staggers back Heirophant Odette swings Cherry Heirloom at 106degrees and lops off his left post-knee. A slow-coagulate stream is running out. He sees his own left shin stand up.
On——in never saw an auburn coif like our and when I scaled the trunk of B. way Willow, when I lit on branc,, h, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. replies Odette.
Now the night’s remarkably still. A barn owl sinks into the plush canopy of a willow and three figures approach Odette.
Will you finish him Hareton asks quietly, a warrior before the warrior-poet.
ne never I quite coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I li like him the way he is. rds beneat ds beneat ds beneat h But still pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at,, n watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the gl a hol loapply the salve since he will live. wn . How? Say
The rooks are hanging. Planets settle in beds. And now all these brand new spiders. You had no choice but to do it says Scarlett.
ne never s I had every choice didn’t when I scaled the I k of B. Willow, whe . I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneat And this one I loved best. eet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze
Odette is turning her full width. Her bluepoint juniper has the tender cottony flowing of those trees in a certain May.
Heirophant Odette recalls the flanks against where her ribs once were. It is a harvest moon in Aries. There Will Be No More Monuments to Lack she’s thinking, raising her arms.
⇠
Heirophant Odette who one August met Kilth. All across her ramified thinking she recalls thirty cows in a paddock stinking for lack of space and the spoiling colour that’s roan, hay, offal, drops of milk, big eyes, buckets. Beside the hills cows locked in a paddock with the wrecks of cars. Odette checked the catch——locked. Odette tore the catch and passed through the gate because of Feeling. It was sensation finally, it is the very first sensation to stand by the open rusted gate and feel the heifers pressing past, Odette holds her arms high and feels every rib against hers, muscle’s gear moving in the flanks with ponderous gentle brushing-by, thirty cows slowly pouring out, they are oval slow barley dirty in a wood sieve and among them Odette. It is the very first sensation to tear the catch and pass through the gate because of Feeling, it is lime on the tongue. Zoar Kilth is there. Zoar is quick in a suit of mail and bludgeons her with a hammer. Dying Odette recalls all across her ramification, the needles flex, sap stiffens, she recalls lifting a crushed skull and her mouth, palsied, said: Then——
Her body was left on a heap of burning tires and the shavings of things. Her blood has spread and dried beneath her like a birch trunk, thin and punctuated. That night they broke the rough perimeter of heifers to steal her away.
In the stone chapel Odette. The windows longsince boarded and painted maroon with a bucket fire there. What’s left of city grid now——bucket fires——15 buildings in This District S, wide lots reclaimed by Queen Anne’s lace. They carried Odette through these lots so carefully, held her level, the stiff dead Queen Anne’s lace waving stiffly, tips of the Queen Anne’s lace now like little bone cages keeping dead seed. They pay regard to stencil numbers building to building but it’s been nine years since anyone policed This District S. To a structure: blocky Colonial or Dutch Colonial, Georgian Colonial; red brick; grey slate roofs; every window a maroon board; a vent here and there. Dead Odette carried in the stone chapel. She was young Druidic here and old Druidic, never handsome Odette, never quite fit, sturdy and plain like the shepherdess, never sat alongside someone in that swing Odette, No Wholeness Fully Worth Having she thinks, cool, turgid, sage, now they lay Heirophant Odette on a bier made from two pews with their backs torn off.
Scarlett Dax. All four are silent but Dax: A few days ago M Odette said How can I be happy with all the dying about me Scarlett, the unspooling pain how, I see you’d like me to smile but how and I thought she was in dramatic mood so I said M Odette in hopes of helping her see, Odette you’ll only visit more of that hurt on yourself if you feel so deeply but don’t set a series of acts to dull it. And she said: It’s insincere to dull it or avoid the desperation of this pain by thinking it can be got at. Let a cut mark me. Let heifers dying in a pen mark me, let the old man convulsing of thirst. There. I just must feel it.
Now they lay her down on a bier.
Scarlett puts on High Boar’s Mask just lacquered and the tusks are sharpened mulberry root. Enough lacquer smells like peach she thinks. The straps tug her hair. The others carefully pull Odette’s clothes away. Where the rivulets of her blood dried——so much like lands. And the dry thicker streams are like blotchy prints of feather pulled across décolleté and on her loose breasts. The tubs of steaming water and also of soaking almonds are brought in and raspberry emollients, jars, the tools. Dax makes the incision along Odette’s side with all surety. Also one just above the sternum, coin-size, giving them pause. She crosses two wide long blunt pins here to stay the skin from shutting and lays a leaf over.
What’s in the room is injury belonging to Heirophant Odette. There is nothing of the cows moving in grass. There is a hammer wielded from the back that meant ambush, disengagement, quick win. Scarlett can locate it now. The others are uneasy too but springs are so myriad in this moment the space becomes a matter of median overwhelm, mean overwhelm, here beside Odette, is it just her ablution, the wood wicks cracking in candles, the orange incense? Scarlett can locate it now and doesn’t she shift her weight lightly, in a moment she’s attending the head and using a sliver hook to pull the brain slowly through Odette’s crushed nose, it is careful work but Dax is moved, dropping long uneven strands of the brain into a dish of rose water, curling and flexing the hook with more stillness and chill angle than a seamstress. And it is only her surety that makes Kir’Aiden respond when she says Now we will bring the head off and like James pack it with cinnamon. The knife.
She levered the knife between some vertebrae and brought off Odette’s head. It was simple because so many holds and ropes had been torn loose by Kilth’s blow. Kir’Aiden receives the head on a bolster. The spine stood straight and rounded from the neck like a salt finial. Dax pours honey from a ewer.
A little blood has welled about the slit on Odette’s side since Scarlett made incision out of turn. A linen cloth dips into the long-soaking almonds, drawing out the milk, and meets the wound coolly. Speaking from west niche Kir’Aiden says That was the act of Third Direction Scarlett Dax. But Scarlett is now wetting the left lung with wine. Liver is drying. At the good eye socket in Odette Kir lifts the retina, snips the nerve, slides a waxed lozenge of citrine into place. At the smashed eye socket in Odette he triple-layers bright saffron paste. Cinnamon is there waiting and the Canopic jars to accept bladder both lungs and the rest. Soil has a very varied perfume.
After certain business two wide long blunt pins. Six days going by.
A great terror to feel was rising in Odette. The veins——are they cords, ‘connective tissue,’ diagonal, rays scabrous with nerveends——suspended in all her limbs and her chest like threads in gel. She was filling with air solution, just-liquid wind as the air is; the veins hung there off the shores of her subcutaneous tissue, bluegreen; about centered; wobbling but steady; and the dry heart that had been slid back in from the side; and the pancreas just below where Scarlett plant the seed-solvent. She grew into feeling she wore a rectangle dress where the veins grow redwhite against a flat pink churchfloor with taupe crossing Narthex Odette. Up beneath her folded white collar a woody system wove around the nub of spine where the head used to be and this part now is a bluepoint juniper or a thick pine two feet wide, lush tight spiny bushiness, a sculptor’s ramification branch to branch, apices like flaming bluegreen chevrons caught in ice, shining, and the trunk was about three feet high. I am seething to know me she thought and sat up.
A bowl of long-soaking almonds sees a ranging-into-sensory Odette who ought to be dead. She appears to be gathering outlines and interiors in a great compass of attention. She raises hands before her, examining. She stands and passes her bluepoint face over spent orange incense that begins burning in reverse. In the ambulatory maroon boards disintegrate over the rose window and light and a lemon ash are there. Two rats that had died in the apse wake and look up. When she speaks in the stone chapel it is like a gathering of wind in glens, demanding built silences on both sides of its appearance. Like her bluepoint juniper were water a breeze rolls sinuously across and she says I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—i innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be—me. One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .
Scarlett returns with two others and first notices light streaming in from the ambulatory and the scent of navel orange and then naturally the empty bier. Hareton exclaims gruffly The body has been stolen and Scarlett says No. A woman is at the threshold with a basket and it is filled with bosc pears and mushrooms and says It’s nearly winter and we found the gardens very full overnight. If we dry these properly we’ll eat well into April. Next the 90s Chevrolets will fill with fuel and I’ll drive to Montpelier. What’s happened.
Kir’Aiden is in the ambulatory holding a piece of maroon board one point of which is twisted into the stem of an open gourd, the other point still smoking apart.
On the way to Slick Pond they see things are overgrown. Scarlett knows where to go——to Slick Pond. Itinerant overgrown as if an aspergil sprayed growy incandescence this way and that without a wielder ever making footfall. Beside two scrub oaks grew quivering 20.6 ft webcaps in the attitude of a Schiele gouache. Also flowers and also terrible squash and raspberry. The path was in some need too and Hareton picked a wiry bramble from his left greave. TV antenna grow here now he muttered and for once Dax smiled.
For once Dax was agape. They passed through the hazy long-term dweomer that hid the sacred grove Slick Pond and so strongly present and livid is the back of Odette that twentyso hummingbirds dipped at her circumference and when they touched air dented violet and gassed away. Aren’t they nourished.
M Odette says Scarlett Dax.
She turns slowly with an awfully ebullient power, she is so vivid, like Good-Heathcliff-of-the-Pond-and-Saturating. She is holding a huge ax and Heirophant Odette says with her summoning wind I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards 4:04 is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be lying in the clover Then—me. One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .
No one pretends to understand a thing.
Kir’Aiden steps back as if struck, clutching his symbol. Are you holy he asks.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might Hardly. this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its inna
Scarlett is agape. Hareton’s kneeling. How do you carry Cherry Heirloom M Odette she asks.
She speaks like the gathering of wind in glens, demanding silence on both sides of its appearance. Like her bluepoint juniper were water a breeze rolls sinuously across. Grasses lean in.
emplo D Scarlett y this shiv to stab through, but Dax could you believe B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards 4:04 is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs I enter the crypt and lifted Cherry Heirloom knowing the curse. stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me. One never saw an It shined alive, the varnish poured over it
from unseen source in a cherry light all except the ax- auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. head that stained itself the matte gummy sheen-color of glistening tar and the blade-edge a lick of bright blue-black. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be I walked feeling right. Then—me. One I walk feeling right with Cherry Heirloom and here never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the t Erunk we are of B. Willow, . . when I lit on branch fifth, I was .
No one understands but Odette is holding the massive ax and a pack of emu make peck along the bank of Slick.
might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards Now beneath this pitch? It’s ashall we visit mes sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the oozevaches ça va OK am in a hollow bole, I fell my friends down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—m e.
Each by each they step aslant from a sequoia near Zoar’s Keep. Walking for a moment. A high harvest moon of course. One of those last autumn evenings where you’re sure a canoe abuts the beach edge. Grapes that will become a bottle of icewine cool into knowing what it’s like to have sweet resource condensed in a single drop. Fated-for-choice and high loyal friendship. Handsome dark Hareton in red scale chewing a piece of hay, silhouette is weaponry, + quick pointed Kir’Aiden always in thought, poison nettle steepeth, + the Scarlett Dax, prize, daunting, past able, chestnut and washed jade, + Heirophant Odette whose step snaps with uncommon report. Much later the bride of the fox will count seeing these four her life’s charge. And even as they break the forest verge and sense Kilth’s presentation it is hard to look up. Each has found a certain bit of herself in refusing stealth. And that refusal reddens as four single refusals together, they are around its bucket fire in mind until they must decamp, regard. They’ve been walking the beachedge of their own bodies.
fixed in the ooze Zoar OK am in a hollow bole, I fellI f says Odette. And he has gathered the tedious troop knowingly, they make a decent posse standing about in the meadow. He has gathered the troop though Hareton is indomitable and Kir intractable and Scarlett inestimable, the very mind of winter. In an act of earnest theatre Heirophant Odette lifts an arm parallel to the field and alights from Nothing a barn owl of wingspan 30 ft and tenebrous many——!——jetblack eyes like Zero’s Neighbor. Also speckling feather by the moon and dire talons like clicking in the tower. In the other hand Cherry Heirloom.
This tedious troop says Hareton and Odette finds it meet.
The four move like dark water.
Kir’Aiden calls lightning all across——falling’s spectacle and so cinematic. With whipping of his spiked flail——chain in weaponblack——Hareton is like——chrome dexterity, killing. Scarlett is that Enemy Swan and ten grunts fold in fours as she passes. Nor does a brown hair move.
Zoar Kilth’s personal guard step to defend him from Odette. Owl’s in the air, buoyant for a full minute on two big flaps. She is terrifying and lifts a great spectral peal. Almost four thousand rooks rise and hover. Spiders bud on backs of spiders. Spiders bud on backs of spiders every one casting webs more than naturally so webs buck thorax to thorax far afield making every fly a spectator. Stars duplicate in the dew. I’m crying.
4:04 is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be lying in the clover, Zoar Then—me. One n. er saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fift I will is beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs twist your people stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down. How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be Then—me.
One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneath this pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze.am in a hollow bole, I fell down . How? Say, something apt inside the trunk of B. Willow; that will be ly into positions you cannot imagine. ing in the clover Then—me. One never saw an auburn coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of Call nd w them en I sca off Willow, when I lit on —ch fifth, I wa
A great guffaw is Kilth like in console games. With lovely flourish Heirophant Odette spins oblique upswinging circle as defenders rush and close, cutting thick swaths out the center of chests in a continuing revolution. That cut. Like a sudden painted sash. No mercer’s seen a velvet like it, colouring in time to a body falling, purplish cones bursting at wound’s hems and a slow close of blood-curtain very surprised it has such space to rush into and meet the earth in crumpled shapes.
Kilth and Odette rush too like lovers in a console game, lockedt. They parrystrike beautifully and lock once again. Do you think you and your heifers are holy Zoar says. The hilt of his hammer is burning to cinders against gorgeous Cherry Heirloom though he holds fast. Do you think you and your heifers are holy. Do you think you and your heifers are holy.
Locked near-face-high to face and like her bluepoint juniper were water an ice breeze rolls across needles stiffen, sap’s turgid, and a mighty volley of them discharge, rigid like the tips of arrows and make of Zoar’s décolleté a hedgehog recto, his face is riddled with tips and so in eighths. And as Zoar cries out and staggers back Heirophant Odette swings Cherry Heirloom at 106degrees and lops off his left post-knee. A slow-coagulate stream is running out. He sees his own left shin stand up.
On——in never saw an auburn coif like our and when I scaled the trunk of B. way Willow, when I lit on branc,, h, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. replies Odette.
Now the night’s remarkably still. A barn owl sinks into the plush canopy of a willow and three figures approach Odette.
Will you finish him Hareton asks quietly, a warrior before the warrior-poet.
ne never I quite coif like mine, and when I scaled the trunk of B. Willow, when I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I li like him the way he is. rds beneat ds beneat ds beneat h But still pitch? It’s a sap-sheet set at,, n watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the gl a hol loapply the salve since he will live. wn . How? Say
The rooks are hanging. Planets settle in beds. And now all these brand new spiders. You had no choice but to do it says Scarlett.
ne never s I had every choice didn’t when I scaled the I k of B. Willow, whe . I lit on branch fifth, I was .I might employ this shiv to stab through, but B. Willow’s innards are leathern—its innards. I lie back. Are there innards beneat And this one I loved best. eet set at ten watts, somehow, so I’m writing in it. Though tittles cloud, the glyphs stay fixed in the ooze
Odette is turning her full width. Her bluepoint juniper has the tender cottony flowing of those trees in a certain May.
Heirophant Odette recalls the flanks against where her ribs once were. It is a harvest moon in Aries. There Will Be No More Monuments to Lack she’s thinking, raising her arms.
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