Sleepy Fox Hollow heiter

Anselm peered deep at those teeth. Yellow rounded their roots, and in some places the edges were dull and shorn away. Two sunk into a gumline that was red, inflamed with a disease that Anselm could smell tint the air in acridity.

He wished he could see his own teeth. Anselm resolved to look upon his reflection in the water later. Little Narcissus, pulling at his gums so he might see every pointy pearly-white.

It was inconceivable to Anselm to think Mahler weak. How old are you, papa? Anselm sniffed at the elk once more. He was not yet hungry, but perhaps after watching Mahler eat his appetite might be roused.