Otter Creek Hard on yourself

would pale sylph have given state to her cerebral rumination, hale tundrian could’ve articulated admittance to once joining a pack for a woman. reminiscences of late feywife grow torpid with ebb and flow of time; still, they give rise anguish; smarting like festering of an abrasion. even now, the tendrils of grief creep up waxen, scarred throat, coiling; tightening —

serpentine.

she begets omphalos of his concentration; rupturing his ruminations. silent gratitude radiates from the tundrian, embracing the caesura in his own thoughts. agog to cast them off in the netherspace of all lost thoughts.
what would you change it to? he inquires softly. far be it from him, of all wolves, to pass a verdict; when he sheds names as snakes shed skins. no, bemused rasp draws from betwixt lips. just travelling to travel. he never could remain entirely stagnant.