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Inside there are hides hanging. The smell of woodfire reaches from the street. Dyed purple garments lay on the small bed. Horse heads hovering in the windows. Halos above them. All manner of fur walks about the pines. Heavy and small. Overground and under root. Steam projected from the nostrils. Squirming in hollows as their backs itch. Flies attend the resting. Green light upon the eye. We cover our noses by the shallow pools of gray. Dry plants are collected. we cannot tell what is floating in the well.