Thousand: Three Hundred Twenty-Three

grasses, perhaps. Uneven. She thinks about it. Walked on. Yup. Pretty much walked all over. She turns the stone in her hand to make sure she’s incorporated its dent into the slouch of the leprechaun. “OK!” she says. The leprechaun yawns, or just lets his jaw hang, it’s hard to tell. The fisher gnome raises an iguana leather bota and squirts an eye-wateringly powerful jolt of a fermented fish and algae brew into his mouth. Taking advantage of the leprechaun’s slack maw, he squirts some into it and pushes the jaw back in place. The drops that spill out the fisher