Cedar Sweep it tastes like iron and hell
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what could be said that had not been said before?

nothing. so he stewed in his silence as he plucked along. the cold breeze ruffled his fur loosely as it hung off of him in clumps. drooping off of a thin, narrow frame.

he could very well blow away with the breeze! or so he felt.

but it did not matter. he continued along his way, admiring what plants remained in the sweep during the settling autumn. the chill a constant reminder.

yet he did his best to ignore it. did his best to pluck along without many thoughts in his brain.

it was better to shut off than dwell upon them.

he'd move along.