affame_le_geant_exposing_the_truth fyn gula "when i consider the brief span of my life absorbed into the eternity which comes before and after. i am amazed to see myself here rather than there: there is no reason for me to be here rather than there, now rather than then. who put me here? by whose command and act were the time and place alloted to me?" ~pascal when ignet blackfire first cut her hand and came to dirt under fingernails, thora and twinkletoes's garden shoppe, she knew thora was suspicious of the stink in her patagonia shoulderbag. however, the radiant hospitality which exuded from her like the scent of brushed rosemary or lavendar, and continued forwards to the past few moments when she stopped her husband from attacking as he heard the tragic news of the death of frauwerzenwozen and boffden's baby, was present even now as she asked the question concerning the stench's origin. the mandrill knew she could trust thora because a stranger's affection is harder to win than that of a friend. in those first difficult moments of meeting thora, when she tried to maintain some sense of normalcy, even though the foul odor was obvious with every move she made, ignet had lied, saying the stink was brussel sprouts threatening to rot. she knew thora didn't believe her, but that was why she trusted her. she seemed to understand from the start that the mandrill needed her compliance. that she possessed a vital secret that must be kept from the wrong hands. and she was correct. because, after ignet answered the question posed to her and explained that it was the flesh of puppertwinkle in the bag that presently sat on the teak wood shelf of the flower cooler and what it meant to proina, thora again held back not only the spring-loaded rage of twinkletoes, but helped praayli restrain couge as they rushed at the mandrill, seething in their angry disbelief. "you fucking butcher!" twinkletoes screamed. "how could you do such a horrible thing?!" his evinced hostility was magnified all over his paper body. words appeared like stigmatas of a religion of malice. tattoos quickly scrawled by the devil that read black on fleshtone: "thief of the soul" "eraser of the written devotion" "knife of hell" "divider of truth" "extinguisher of the flame" couge was more vocal in his fury. he spit out his vexation, pushing against praayli's quivering hold. "you bastard! you traitor! how could you bow so low as to take advantage of a defenseless chihauhua in his dutiful purpose of serving the revolution?!" the mandrill read the messages, she listened to the curses of couge oktuber and could no longer speak. she did not want to be there in that house that just a half hour before was heaven. when they did not know who she really was. she knew when she looked into the eyes of those who were kind enough to accept her that she owed them something. of all that was given to her, what was the one thing she could give back? "it's not too late," ignet said, and she realized she was living in a constant state of desperation. "we can go back to montamore, get puppertwinkle's flesh, return to his skeleton, and reattach it." couge knew it was possible. he'd seen it done before nearly two years ago with the separated flesh of a buddhist alligator-man. "we go in the morning," couge said, and twinkletoes was satisfied with the proposition for he could tell his brother spoke with experience and authority, besides he never saw his anger brought to such a skidding stop so quickly. "we should go now!" ignet urged. she had an abrupt sense of foreboding. proina had her way of knowing when she was being etrayed 030129 what's it to you? who go blather from