The fox-who-was-a-boy fled the wilderness into the wood, where forgetting has no place, into the wood that remembers every facet of the world, where all of history and knowledge flourish, where every tree tells a story made of words solid…
The Forgetter walked, wearing the clothes of the host and carrying the work of the poet in a pack on his back. In his right hand, he held an empty cup, and in his left, a letter. Or rather, not…
The diver stood where the bed had been, and so the Duchess demanded, where would she rest her head in the house of the host? “Here,” spoke a man with dark spectacles. “Here, on this side of the white curtains,”…