Mastadon Leg

Springtime in Rongovia. Cirrus clouds crystallize across the crisp evening sky. We park our cars beneath a giant Beech tree draped in tiny red birds. Strolling over soft, dormant grass, I appeal to the short Claudius Ptolemaeus. "Ptolemy, I'd appreciate your insight on a little problem we've been having. Oh, but wait! First, I'd rather … Continue reading Mastadon Leg