the most illustrious madame of the Feumont ascended the rise, in her mind cursing the make of this mountain - as nobility shouldn't sully their tongues.

it was promise of stuffed raton laveur that had enticed her to the climb, a choice she now thought might've been ill. her pretty skirts were soaked up to the knees and muddied at the rims, and she dreaded to picture her face after so much exertion.

enfin, e n f i n the height became breadth, and sa majeste stood, proudly, amidst trees, her creamy chest rising and falling.