Bearclaw Valley don't drag me to a sea of flame

thank god for the natural impulses that connected the red-string crimeboard of “ family” and “YES” and stuck a sharp “NO” over patricide, dad. recoiling from the gust like a tipping cow, andrelia could do all but whine being woken up! what was worse, her eyes had opened. all the multivalent shimmerings that blew up her pupils elected paratactic squeaks that could be crudely translated to baby expletives.

but soon her spidey senses told her food was here, so she discontentedly wiggled her rotund form in the dirt indicating she would like to be fed teat de suite, s’il vous plaît.