My instinct tells me to go now – do not hesitate at the eclipse

They were orange with vanilla icing would be my last meal at HQ for 17 years.

All peers of HQ are deathly afraid of wheels.  Many peers had stuck prayers to the spokes in the old tongue.

They dropped in bloody face.  The two who remained, they were occupied distracted.  I, well, again hiding.

Formalities like introductions were, it seems, purposefully withheld.

“Where are your stripes peer?” a man asked with the light-fire smile.

The dirt cakes in the contours like dreams that are repeated.

If I do not escape, the loop will close.

the hippopotamuses stood shoulder-to-shoulder in defiance.  They reinforced what I already knew well: I was off the path.  

I had the feeling I should change course.  After all, I was not on lock.