With "Who Tread on Decayed Ground" away to a friend for quick feedback before I submit it, I'm back to the novel. And scanning through chapter seven to see if I gave a name to a street, am reminded of this song-fragment that Beth sings:

Taking a left turn, she walked onto a dead-end of paving that jutted out over the surrounding houses. “In the long yellow grasses, rise the five young sons’ arses…” She was off-key as usual, and not rhyming as she had when younger, but she didn’t mind. “…They’re learnin’ their know-how, each son to a small cow…” She leaned against the low wall that edged the length of street and breathed in the cool night air. It had been getting hot in the Debaucher’s Thumb*; here, not stopped by buildings, a breeze worked quickly on her bare forearms and face.
“…A squeal and a wail, and a tickle of their tails….”

I amuse myself far too easily. =D


*a pub/bar. This is what so many pubs in England being called The King's/Queen's Head does to my brain.

Tags: the bone queen