The silver maple wasn’t used to arguing. Gossiping, sure.
Stay inside, show you care, / 'Cause we breathe the same air...
I am the something old and something new.
The Librarian of Dust has been leaving you messages for quite some time now.
Screaks will scutter and hide the moment they hear someone step out of bed. You would, too, if you sang like a Screak.
The old man held a shadow in his left hand. I do not know how.
“He told me I should call them ‘Triumph Blooms.’ You know why? Because they’re heirloom seeds, so they’ve never been crossed with another flower. And that means they’re pure. Untainted.”