A PRAIRIE IN THE HEART OF RAVEN SKYS
A gift the lords could have given without its mutiny of beasts. Roaming high in mutating colors, glassing for illuminated droves of dethroned living stone.To take the distance of the stars from between the gazes of their lords.
And our lords, who traveled setting south and rose up dawning cloaks to give their gift: The stars forever to split between ticking time. Blue glowing nitemares beloved and bitter,
swooping in the crimson of prairie skys
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