The warriors were catches, allowed to fail them was twelve, no eleven, the inventory amounted to how many you could bring around. Generally spoken from them a tenth friend, could fail to notify those other three, and amend to the crowding nine beautifully proudly lonesome princesses; caught with a remainder of three, at eleven to the bell, your warriors remained captive until them three, when docking to resound the language of youth; a warrior is no princess and captive to you.

2019 Adam Blewett ©