cHAPTER fOUR: Blood Cloths

"When creativity goes to far, nothing will ever look so good anymore."

The cook and the gardener. Both had been serving the house for millenia. Both are victims of my granddaugther. Children, they are the most energetic thing in this world. They lack the laziness of a mongrel or the shame of a sinner. But they are rich playfullness that goes beyond annoyance. I weave, and that is where I am known for. I even weave on the skin of a bear who stood 15 ft tall, a pet of the goddess of carcass. The bearskin served as cloak against the harsh forests beyond our grey stone walls. On my journey to gather red tulip fruits, I was countlessly shot by arrows of steel and thorns; Auxirous. They hunted me until I lured them into a place I held my traps, crucifying them and called the black wings to feast on their flesh.

The bear skin was supposed to hide me from anything alive. Then I saw the red spiral painted behind the fur. This color is an insult and a challenged to death by Auxirous. They mistook me for an attacker.

I slap the child, knowing that it was by her doing that I was chased in the forest. She cried, the last thing I heard...

was my ears bursting.