lambs' gambol

Me and My Daughter in the Car

Us: Sheep! Sheeeeep in that field. Look. LOok. Lambs? Oh, no lambs. Boo, no lambs.

Us: Sheep! Sheeps in that field. Look. LoOk. Lambs? Yes, yes. YeS lamBs. Yay. Lambs. Hello lambs. Lambsters. Look. That one lying down cos it tired. That one want it mum. That one gamboling. Lambs gambol. They don’t mind. Yay. Lambs. Bye lambs. Lambsters.

thesoftgrape  asked:

(This is amazing, I love it!) Tell me about the Great Pyrenees, please!

A nimbus cloud high in the atmosphere grew lonely and cold. Thunder rumbled within his frustrated mind, and teardrops fell as heavy rains for account of his loneliness.

The cloud came at last to a beautiful farm, where lambs skipped and gamboled in the sunshine. The nimbus cloud felt his loneliness subside as he watched them, but his shade and rain made the lambs cold, so that they hunkered down and hid themselves from him.

The cloud saw this, and made himself small and his billows warm, and came down to earth as a great white dog. He never left the lambs, and guards them with his thunder and lightening, and roams with them over far hills, soft as down to those he calls friends, but a maelstrom to any foe.

anonymous asked:

I bet at first eto didn´t trust arima completly so she would hide behind trees or pillars everytime arima came to the temple to discuss about V. Arima would move his fingers and say "here kitty kitty" eto: *hisses* arima: angry kitty.

[Sometime Eto would hide on a tree.]

Arima: Could you climb down the tree please?
Eto: No,I don’t trust your sneaky ass.
Arima: Don’t make me cut it down.
Eto: Does it look as if I care about tree? Hah-? More importantly,could you take a note,Mr.Arima airhead reaper Kishou,I have been known by your kind as ‘The One-Eyed Owl’ not ‘The One-Eyed Kitty’.*frowns* 
Arima: Actually,You don’t look like either.
Eto: Oh? What I look like in your eyes then?

Arima: “…..”


Arima: Well,I said you are the most beautiful and stunning girl I’ve ever met.When you appeared and attacked CCG’s branch offices,fought tooth and nail for your rights I saw all investigators shook in their shoes,even special class investigators had a hard time fighting you.At that moment, you impressed me like no one else could do.I think you are not an innocent lamb gambol happily with ignorant, licks the butcher’s hand who about to slaughter you.It seems our thoughts are on the same direction.That’s what I like the most but I also like the way you tried to hide your softness in a shell,propelled by anger and pride. I saw you stumbled and trembled while we were fighting and on this day someone just jerked upright when she saw me come in. She smiled, but it was a forced smile, seemingly form fear rather than coming from confidence.You too,should take note that It’s surprisingly cute when her pretty face turning red before my eyes. Both human and ghouls may think you’re something dangerous and terrifying ,you are untouchable no one dare to understand your grief but I’ll prove them wrong.You are more than what you’ve become and I don’t care whether you are tainted or unhinged, If you truly want to be respected you must learn a new way to use that tongue of your or else I will tame you by myself.

Eto: *falls from tree and break her nose*

(I live for sassy & savage Arima hc)

in the tenth year of the age of mothers, the dag starts to raise sheep. they come to her from far away, an impromptu flock crossing the wastes at a crawl. cheedo spies them from the top of the look out tower one still afternoon. she calls for dag, who comes to look. 

“what are they?” she says, chin in her hands. 
“i don’t know,” says the dag. 
“they look like clouds,” says cheedo, and giggles. “little clouds, on black stick legs.”

they send out a scout to look; she returns with the animals in the back of her car. they are somber and still, but their eyes are wild. when dag reaches out to touch, they shy, and bleat, and stamp. it takes a long time to figure out what to do with them, and by the time they’ve decided cheedo has already won their trust. they stand near her and allow her to stroke them, from head to tail along their soft backs. their coats are curly and overgrown, matted near their feet and tails. 
“we should cut them,” cheedo says, and looks anxiously at the dag. “their coats, i mean. we’re not going to eat them, right?”
“no,” dag reassures, and puts a hand to the nearest one, coaxing it close. she pushes the wool carefully back from its face with her fingers. “they’re called sheep,” she explains. “magdalene says people used to keep them for their wool. you can spin it, like the hemp.”

in the thirteenth year, their flock has doubled. what was three, now is six. the lambs are sweet and gambol about, teasing the children of the citadel into games of jump-and-chase. the dag has long since perfected how to shear them, and cheedo helps to hold them still, keep them calm as the dag collects their wool. the vuvalini show them how to skirt and wash it; the milking mothers teach them how to knit and to darn. they make socks and scarves and tops and leggings.   

(cheedo gifts max with a wonky woolen hat complete with bauble upon his next return. she only sees him wear it once about the citadel: after the scorching temperature of the day has dropped, and it is his turn to take the night shift. he jams it on over his hair before he takes the stairs, and cheedo sees furiosa give him a look that suggest she is trying so hard not to laugh.)

(inspired by this post)