Alma's mouth, freshly outlined with beet paint, was capable of locking him in a carnal embrace that while it endured forbade any thoughts of the coils beyond the brink. Well, let them snore, for neither the dog's tongue, not the wife's could lap the furrows from his brow, although he had sent for Alma that evening mainly because of her tongue. Beside him, inside the ermine blankets, his great hound, Mik, and his wife, Alma, snoozed the night away, oblivious to their lord's distress. More awake, actually, for the guards mused dreamily about mead, boiled beets, and captive women as their eyes patrolled the forested horizon, while the king was as conscious as an unsheathed knife coldly conscious and warmly troubled. He was as awake as the guards at the gate. Only the babes in the nursery lay peacefully, passive even to the fleas that supped on their tenderness. Cooks roasted it in dream pits, seamstresses sewed it to the badge hides that covered them, the court necromancer traced its contours in the constellation of straw on which he tossed. Wheelwrights rolled it, tail in mouth, down the cart roads of their slumber. In those days, the earth was till flat, and people dreamed often of falling over edges.īlacksmiths hammered the Edge Serpent on the anvils of their closed eyelids. On their sofas of spice and feathers, the concubines also slept fretfully. When they breathed, it sounded as if they were testing the air for dragon smoke. The citadel was dark, and the heroes were sleeping.

Jitterbug perfume kindle