Scents of ages past and scents of the zeitgeist. A guild of perfumers.
They consumed Great G’bod. They partook of the Giant Slug’s flesh.
"When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,"
-Shakespeares 29th Sonnet.
A peculiar guild of specialists. "Flick your ticks, slice your lice, squeeze your fleas."
A Renaissance dawns. A School of Art emerges.
The frozen wastes stretch for miles around. Something waddles through the snow. It's a penguin: An emperor penguin. It waddles slowly, meandering toward the sea. The ranger freezes. "Stay very still," he warns. "Don't move at all." "What is it?" I ask, breathlessly. "It's the most dangerous creature in the whole Yahoo Tundra, and that penguin's about to kick its butt..." (Sorry, Epi! I couldn't resist!)