Zorgamazoo
Zorgamazoo
“A noise drifted up, like the chirp of a bird; like a floor, giving way with the tiniest creak, it was reedy and shrill, going:squim - squibble - squeak!
In the cage just below her, an ogre was there. He was polishing something, with hanks of his hair. The object was round, like a peach or a plum, which the ogre had clenched in his finger and thumb.
He would spit on the object, then polish and rub, giving every last inch a meticulous scrub. Therein lay the source of the curious sound, as h...e burnished this thing that was perfectly round.
The ogre himself was the usual kind. He was crooked, decrepit and hardly refined. Though his arms and his legs were spindly and svelte, his belly was plump. It hung over his belt.
His jowls were like rubber, his nose like a twig. His feet were all grubby and terribly big. He was old in his bones and he needed a shave. He already, it seemed, had one foot in the grave.
Katrina, intrigued, put her face to the floor. She had never encountered an ogre before.MoreLess
In the cage just below her, an ogre was there. He was polishing something, with hanks of his hair. The object was round, like a peach or a plum, which the ogre had clenched in his finger and thumb.
He would spit on the object, then polish and rub, giving every last inch a meticulous scrub. Therein lay the source of the curious sound, as h...e burnished this thing that was perfectly round.
The ogre himself was the usual kind. He was crooked, decrepit and hardly refined. Though his arms and his legs were spindly and svelte, his belly was plump. It hung over his belt.
His jowls were like rubber, his nose like a twig. His feet were all grubby and terribly big. He was old in his bones and he needed a shave. He already, it seemed, had one foot in the grave.
Katrina, intrigued, put her face to the floor. She had never encountered an ogre before.MoreLess
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