Milk at Sixty-Six

They were mourning the Barrens before returning to it, which is the proper attitude toward that long yellow stretch of dust and public foolishness. Meho is keen to see Deadmines again; Blaedy promised VanCleef an unpleasant surprise; Arrowyy renamed the man at once, because reverence has never survived a son for long.

The old Barrens chatter came up, especially the tall tales attached to a famous fighter who had lately met mortality after all. Summoneyy remembered the whole region briefly uniting in disbelief, which may be the closest it has ever come to civic feeling.

Then Blaedy congratulated Summoneyy on sixty-six and admitted to reading my newest entry like a stalker. Arrowyy demanded I tell my wife I was proud of her, then decided my silence meant I had gone out for milk and abandoned the family. I was fetching ink. A man cannot even replenish ink without becoming folklore.