With the battery down in my laptop I am resorting to pen and paper for my regular writing today. I could turn on the desktop, but I thought under these circumstances that I would give the moleskine a shot.
Still trying to get Johnka’s story told:
“The Tacons are not like th gypsies you and I know. It’s probably not fair to even call them such. Not exactly anyway. They were searching for something heaven, paradise, God–no one around here knows for sure. When they reached the edge of this desert. It wasn’t always as nice as we see today. According to the stories people tell the stopped at the edge and made a deal with their horses, and not just the ones pulling wagons. All of them. They promised them that they would set them free and go on foot if they would just carry them safely through the desert. No matter what they found.”
“This very spot?” Tritti asked.
“No back there where I picked you up.” Johnka stated.
“Near as I can tell it looks like when they got to the edge of the desert, to the sea, they just chucked all their junk over the cliff’s edge in frustration. It got caught up in the wires and now it’s ah’Taconscientee”