Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Thousand: Seven Hundred Twenty-Two

extinct. Here, for instance. He’s the last one.” The angel is now sitting on its feet, head bowed over clasped hands, eyes closed. “Is he praying it back to life?” the girl whispers. Making no concession to the apparent solemnity of the occasion the dragon scratches at its chest, finds a tick, and yanks it out. “When did you,” the dragon says, then guesses, “Ah! I bet I picked you up between. I’ve heard of the ticks between times. Thought they’d be larger. No, thinking of the hydras, aren’t I.” The dragon glances at the girl, holding up the tick,

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