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“the wool is warm. the gate is not theirs. they eat what is thrown.”
Lunar.
White wool.
Brown cap.
Straw under the feet.
The fence at the chest.
They stand in the pen.
The face is calm.
The hands are hidden in the fleece.
No one lifts the rail.
No one leaves the straw.
The feed comes.
They take it.
They are the vessels the cycle dressed as sheep
and left inside the wood.
Flock is the tragedy of the warm fence.
The cap is not a crown.
The straw is not a throne.
What stays in the pen is sheared.
What lifts the rail is not in the wool.
They are the vessels the cycle counted by the feed.
First stage. Evolves into Lupetto.
Flock is the pen that mistook the wool for the mark.
They eat.
They do not lift the rail.
They are the vessels the cycle fed and never sealed.
LunarHomunculusCalcinationIF WE DO NOT FIND WATER BLOOD MUST DOThe LawEclipse