A job to do curating her fathers view, the woman with the silver above her large pointy ears in the gold overalls, long sleeve black shirt, and black boots three inches to her knees, not a dead thing left, not a leaf would be stood for good growth moving forward you start with the fresh and alive, and spread some ash on some too.
The little witch rabbit with silver above large pointy ears peeked her green eyes bright to the light when she heard the woman sing a pirated song, not the one two toned squared with a whistle in there that was hers to belong, but one of thanks in a language once to many gone wrong, as she cleared a clean circle complete and all around, tight to burn the cypress and the weak limbs fallen from the river trees, a blue smoke spirit in the wind.
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