π²πΎππ½ πΆ π»πππ πΎπ ππ½π π’πππππΉ - π»πΆππ»ππΎππ π΅πΆπΈπππππππΉ/πππ·πΎπππ ππππΎπΈ

Details
Title | π²πΎππ½ πΆ π»πππ πΎπ ππ½π π’πππππΉ - π»πΆππ»ππΎππ π΅πΆπΈπππππππΉ/πππ·πΎπππ ππππΎπΈ |
Author | Frontline Tales |
Duration | 58:05 |
File Format | MP3 / MP4 |
Original URL | https://youtube.com/watch?v=Y-O7oAp7hbM |
Description
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The Tale:
You live in a hole in the ground.
But not the kind that drips with roots and smells of damp stone. Yours is a warm, dry, respectable sort of hole, with polished wood panels, circular windows tucked beneath the hill, and a front door round and green as a spring leaf, set with a brass knob that shines like the sun when polished. Which you do, every other morning, just after first breakfast.
Your days are peaceful. Predictable. You have a schedule, and it bends for no one. Bacon on Mondays, mushrooms on Thursdays, and seed cake every Sunday afternoon. You tend your garden with care, keep your cellar in fine order, and maintain a healthy suspicion of anything that smells of faraway places.
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