You'd better get to it. Those eggs aren't going to collect themselves. The midsummer sunrise is already bringing a purple tinge to the dawn, and it's warm--so warm for this time of day. Not even a breeze to clear the air, so thick with humidity that you could chew each breath. So still, so stagnant. The chickens seem agitated, too. There are no eggs in the nests. In the distance, you hear chanting as the old windmill begins to creak.

     

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CONTENTS RANDOM