Issue #216
January 05, 2017

Wooden Boxes Lined with the Tongues of Doves

We dry the tongues on butcher's paper beside the stove. Once desiccated, they barely have a scent. Uncle Sholert has shown me how to arrange them like tiny shingles or scales, overlapping. We fix them in place with a glue made from horses' hooves, and then we seal the boxes with beeswax.

Think Of Winter

Folu has forgotten how to read them, but something is stirring. The symbols start dancing again, even if only a little. The Lion, the Knight, the Sun. The Knight is finally here. The cards knew he was coming. He came to ruin everything, with his warm blanket and bright fire and hot soup. The Knight has brought the Sun. The Sun burns. The Grey Men’s Sun burnt Mother. Folu will never forget.

Audio Fiction Podcast:
Wooden Boxes Lined with the Tongues of Doves
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We dry the tongues on butcher's paper beside the stove. Once desiccated, they barely have a scent.
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