CHURCH FOR WILD DOGS TRAPPED IN THE BODIES OF HUMAN GIRLS

Woof 🌳🐾

My playthough went as follows:

When teeth sink - into skin and the deeper flesh - they scoop. Chocolate shavings of tissue find duff. Before the dogs. The torso does not find its way free. I have already announced I have come to cut their face. They do not get out of my way.

As they fall, once have have cut their face and cut their back, shoved claws into their spine an pulled until their weight will take care of the rest, I walk away. The collosus falls, tendons fracturing slow and methodical. I watch for sprites in the wind.

Removing limbs of the fallen, I feel the lurch. I lay in the shade, silent. I can work the limbs off before they reanimate. Soon, I ask princess for blood, the canary yellow of her body the color of goo and lying opening the hole in her side she cares for and pours liquid memories of natural wonder into me.

When I speak again it is a roar. I am through the limbs of the moss-bearded enemy, twisting in every direction without concern for whether I will not taste the wonder of life. Every wonder is mine, I pull. By the time princess comes by to make the sign, I am surprised. Rest takes me.

We fight the enemy alone, or in pairs. It lowers our footprint, which is vital. Extracting the enemy so princess can have even a drop more sunlight to herself, under these scorched skies, is the only work. All the world can take their breaths some other way. Lungs are no princess.

Lying in a glad of our own making, we catch up. Glow has been carrying a new scar - touched a shoulder to their cheek while biting through a thrashing enemy, which seared through to bone. Princess made a poltice, but we expect the arm is to be reconditioned, for princesses safety.

We read the season off one another's coats. It is a hungry day, and all our play is lost to the feeling we will never be safe. We gather in close as the rain passes through, and we realize why it is rest was called at this time and not at high heat - the ᕑnemy growls.

Attention flits like fuzzy triangle-people, our ears taking to the sounds. We are not wanted here. We are never wanted. Princess cherishes us, every praise as rare as the cards we draw from as words from well. And, well, the words are ours. We do not share words - cannot.

The enemies we bring down, stand atop, remove limbs from, know as intimately as lovers, and walk in our arms piece by piece to the side of the river so the river may not swallow us, and return to where they fell grants us princess, drinking deep all pale light we win.

When teeth sink - of day, onto coats, it all feels like value has meaning again. The praises we hear and dismiss as something the enemy has trains us to disbelieve come back to us, in our dreams, where the enemy would become us to go, blossom and bring context like always.

We sleep in a heap, like bees. We sleep in duff, avoiding pitch. Avioding tick beds, any underbrush. We carry fire in our mouths from heat lightning and drag it through swarms of such creatures. We watch them turn on one another in the confusion, and eat and eat. How?

This catches me off-guard. I fell giants easily seven hundred and seventy-seven generations older than I, their tactics as ingrained in me as my own heart. Yet here I lie, hungry, unknowing. I rise. There is light. I take a walk.

The ground is a kind of orbulent chaos that echoes the question devouring my praise into nightmare. I was suppose to read the words as love,affection. I twist them into an unanswerable question. What is wrong with me? I need the rest. I need to accept the praise.

I find the moon, a clearing. By day, this place is full of mice and song, blossom and the call to sprint. Now, it is a collosus of its own making. A mosaic of what is left. No collossi step foot in here, save the ones we may drop in, expand this space like capillary until it is ocean and sun.

That's all any praise will be, I decide - ocean lapping sun. Movements as still as occurance, arcs as simple as moss. The moon will call me here, I will see to how it's filling, and know, just for a moment, every praise is this one, and there is mine and me. As I return and to sleep, I sigh.

Dust lifts from my eyes. I have overslept. Ribbons of flesh pour from enemies like menstrual slake, feed the ground which carries our offerings to princess. For a moment, I feel them pass under me. I intercept the enemy's bands as well, though I wary to listen.

Praise comes in many forms, satisfies. The enemy has words of praise princess would dare never say. I could slip in, I notice, to one of these channels. I realize, I could be princess, if as I lie here, something happened to everything and we stopped, sun going carollon.

I get up before I can hear the false name of whatever is approaching my body. Not here. Not that name here. I must keep my head down. Announce my cuts, fell these awful foes, and bring sunlight to the world. How else will we ever be worshiped? This is the way. I continue.

I sink teeth.