Jade Fern Grove landwirtschaft

he was in no mood to defeat the public’s perception that he was a hermetic recluse, but the spring of tears the girl wept due to her imagined apocryphal meanderings drew him in.

his persistent migraines had given him reason to believe his memory betrayed him, and he had never met “bracelet”, and (sadly) therefore “m’heda.”

when her quintessential rubicund dorsal stripe appeared in rearview, he only wondered if he was losing it.

his initial thought, he should just keep walking.

the adjacent thought that threw a wrench in his designs was, he couldn’t howl at the borders because of his disability. waiting for a patrol was less than conventional, and going from rivenwood’s first iteration trespassers and dissenters weren’t exactly sent off on their way armed with a gift basket and cheese and wine at the hip and good alms.

so partly to selfishly get passage into the bypass and partly because melancholy to him is what a porch light is to a moth he makes himself known, quickly glancing at the underglow that assaulted his eyes at the scene from the forest definitely a perfect place to sit and sob.

klaus’ own brackish countenance, steely and unreadable, raised an accusatory eyebrow, he couldn’t tell if it was a staged public display, but he’d done the proverbial oil change with his eye glands to keep himself from crying when he definitely should have indulged--so he was no expert on the matter.