trying to recognize the emanations. He tended the ear, attentive to the rustling of the wind in a tree, the beat of the wings of a bird, the humming of an insect. Suddenly, his horse blew more fort by its nostrils and the man perceived finally their presence.

They arrived, crawling in the wild grass, twisting between the trees, climbing to the assault of the hill. It was soon wrapped in a cloak of waves plaited, identified by a fog of voice that overlapped, cut, intermingled, caught by a hubbub of Cree and laughs, submerged by whispers, sobs, drowned under the stream unleashed of thousands of words that failed in the hollow of his ears. He lost the notion of time and space. Yet it was not afraid, he knew. To capture the souls hitchhiking, it had to accept to lose consciousness and annihilate the reason. He waited until the node of the conversations is loosens, that the voices eager came from the world of silence is soothe finally. Then, the distant echoes of ancient legends resounded in the middle of the shadows. He recognized the voice of his grand-father, this warm voice and deep, he wore in the hollow of the heart as an amulet. It became again the child who was listening, the mouth and eyes wide open, the history timeless of the people: "In the beginning of time, a race was organized around the sacred mountain. The Council decided that the winner would have the right to eat the vanquished. The men chose to be represented by the pie and the falcon. The day came, all the animals were covered with paint. They started and ran as quickly as possible. Around the Mountain, the bison led the race, follow-up of the pie and the falcon. But close to the arrival, the two birds foncèrent and won the race for the men. From this day, we have hunted bison. The birds have become our friends. We do not eat and we bear their pretty feathers in the guise of ornament... " This was a long time already that the whites had destroyed everything: bison covering the plain, the villages of canvas, the totems sacred. But the spirits, more alive than books, murmured again. And the man with the long hair of ebony never tired to follow in their footsteps, to fill their words. These words that told him that he was not a pebble thrown at random of paths. These words which reminded him that it was Cheyenne.

Then the man thanked the spirits who were coming. He lifted up the fist and pushed a long CREE, cabrant his horse in the face of the full moon. The minutes do not seemed to him not long. When the car of the gendarmerie arrived Jérôme had still not moved. He was breathing calmly. A crowd was formed, yet no one had dared to challenge nor even approaching to open the door of the Ford.

Later he enters snippets of conversations. A constable questioned witnesses, it had stretched its portfolio to another. "The pharmacist... and his wife... You think well all the days here... Certainly, it is no doubt... It will have wanted the Faucher In a blow of madness... " Slowly, slowly, Jérôme understood what the onlookers were telling. Then this man in the green sweater would be pharmacist, and Martine.... "Your Insurance Mr ? " Jérôme resumed his portfolio, he wasn't shaking not, he found a paper to header of the U.A.P. that he handed to the constable. "It is not a certificate of insurance Mr.". Jérôme remembered suddenly that it had still not set the renewal of its insurance. The paper that he had to submit to the constable was that a reminder of his broker. And he had killed a man, a pharmacist, and Martine was his... But he had never seen this type. Toward noon the next day the gendarmes on loosed. It had not been able to deny that the accident had taken place any precisely by accident, that it was the result of a moment of inattention and a mechanical failure. Jérôme wondered if Amelie and Rémi déjeunaient in the canteen at the school, and also whether he would be required to pay a pension to the family of the pharmacist. He walked as in cotton. To each metallic rattling, our nest hiccups. We look discreetly with anxiety for fear of worry the small. But the first buzzes, we can no longer pretend. They know fly since little, we just hope that this will be sufficient. We start in front to encourage them. They deploy and agitated their young plumage and we are relieved that they follow us all three easily. We wipe a round object to the passage and in a few strokes of wings, we find refuge on the other side of the street. And we are witnessing, helpless, to the silent suffering of our host, which ended a few meters further down. Just a few seconds will have been necessary to identify the origin of the noise. A few additional minutes to put in place the chain out of its rail. New equipped with my paraphernalia, I completes to incise the wood. Their crackles are the alarm signals that prevent each crumbling of these verdant masses. All branches to my scope are now to earth. I will not be able to attain anything at this location. I stay, take a step back and admire my work. I welcome the work done. It was the highest and most voluminous. I will finally have the pleasure to see the rays of the sun flood my terrace. And despite all that this may include a fool, because I do not want to be reasonable at this moment where I want the one that I like against my heart, I have the impression that nothing can we achieve it and me, not even the laws of the universe. We are untouchables, invincible by the force of my feelings absolute. But this I can tell you my love, you would take fear. Pfff, I m bored! Nothing happens there. When is it going? For the occasion, I have donned my rubber boots all new. This is not all the days that we are going to the fox hunt... A few meters from me, my two brothers; a little further, other boys and men of the neighborhood, all armed with sticks. Our mission to all: make noise, a lot of noise, so to do flee foxes and put to scope of gun hunters, posted much further, to the edge of my small wood. It must be said that they have a little searched, foxes, this punitive expedition: two turkeys slaughtered in eight days, this makes a lot, all the more that they festered! Certainly, they have not been very smart to make their nests in a hedge to at least two hundred meters from the farm but trying to recognize the emanations. He tended the ear, attentive to the rustling of the wind in a tree, the beat of the wings of a bird, the humming of an insect. Suddenly, his horse blew more fort by its nostrils and the man perceived finally their presence. They arrived, crawling in the wild grass, twisting between the trees, climbing to the assault of the hill. It was soon wrapped in a cloak of waves plaited, identified by a fog of voice that overlapped, cut, intermingled, caught by a hubbub of Cree and laughs, submerged by whispers, sobs, drowned under the stream unleashed of thousands of words that failed in the hollow of his ears. He lost the notion of time and space. Yet it was not afraid, he knew. To capture the souls hitchhiking, it had to accept to lose consciousness and annihilate the reason. He waited until the node of the conversations is loosens, that the voices eager came from the world of silence is soothe finally. Then, the distant echoes of ancient legends resounded in the middle of the shadows. He recognized the voice of his grand-father, this warm voice and deep, he wore in the hollow of the heart as an amulet. It became again the child who was listening, the mouth and eyes wide open, the history timeless of the people:

"In the beginning of time, a race was organized around the sacred mountain. The Council decided that the winner would have the right to eat the vanquished. The men chose to be represented by the pie and the falcon. The day came, all the animals were covered with paint. They started and ran as quickly as possible. Around the Mountain, the bison led the race, follow-up of the pie and the falcon. But close to the arrival, the two birds foncèrent and won the race for the men. From this day, we have hunted bison. The birds have become our friends. We do not eat and we bear their pretty feathers in the guise of ornament... "

This was a long time already that the whites had destroyed everything: bison covering the plain, the villages of canvas, the totems sacred. But the spirits, more alive than books, murmured again. And the man with the long hair of ebony never tired to follow in their footsteps, to fill their words. These words that told him that he was not a pebble thrown at random of paths.

These words which reminded him that it was Cheyenne. Then the man thanked the spirits who were coming. He lifted up the fist and pushed a long CREE, cabrant his horse in the face of the full moon. The minutes do not seemed to him not long. When the car of the gendarmerie arrived Jérôme had still not moved. He was breathing calmly. A crowd was formed, yet no one had dared to challenge nor even approaching to open the door of the Ford. Later he enters snippets of conversations. A constable questioned witnesses, it had stretched its portfolio to another. "The pharmacist... and his wife... You think well all the days here... Certainly, it is no doubt... It will have wanted the Faucher In a blow of madness... " Slowly, slowly, Jérôme understood what the onlookers were telling. Then this man in the green sweater would be pharmacist, and Martine.... "Your Insurance Mr ? " Jérôme resumed his portfolio, he wasn't shaking not, he found a paper to header of the U.A.P. that he handed to the constable. "It is not a certificate of insurance Mr.". Jérôme remembered suddenly that it had still not set the renewal of its insurance. The paper that he had to submit to the constable was that a reminder of his broker. And he had killed a man, a pharmacist, and Martine was his... But he had never seen this type. Toward noon the next day the gendarmes on loosed. It had not been able to deny that the accident had taken place any precisely by accident, that it was the result of a moment of inattention and a mechanical failure. Jérôme wondered if Amelie and Rémi déjeunaient in the canteen at the school, and also whether he would be required to pay a pension to the family of the pharmacist. He walked as in cotton. To each metallic rattling, our nest hiccups. We look discreetly with anxiety for fear of worry the small. But the first buzzes, we can no longer pretend. They know fly since little, we just hope that this will be sufficient. We start in front to encourage them. They deploy and agitated their young plumage and we are relieved that they follow us all three easily. We wipe a round object to the passage and in a few strokes of wings, we find refuge on the other side of the street. And we are witnessing, helpless, to the silent suffering of our host, which ended a few meters further down. Just a few seconds will have been necessary to identify the origin of the noise. A few additional minutes to put in place the chain out of its rail. New equipped with my paraphernalia, I completes to incise the wood. Their crackles are the alarm signals that prevent each crumbling of these verdant masses. All branches to my scope are now to earth. I will not be able to attain anything at this location. I stay, take a step back and admire my work. I welcome the work done. It was the highest and most voluminous. I will finally have the pleasure to see the rays of the sun flood my terrace. And despite all that this may include a fool, because I do not want to be reasonable at this moment where I want the one that I like against my heart, I have the impression that nothing can we achieve it and me, not even the laws of the universe. We are untouchables, invincible by the force of my feelings absolute. But this I can tell you my love, you would take fear. Pfff, I m bored! Nothing happens there. When is it going?

For the occasion, I have donned my rubber boots all new. This is not all the days that we are going to the fox hunt... A few meters from me, my two brothers; a little further, other boys and men of the neighborhood, all armed with sticks. Our mission to all: make noise, a lot of noise, so to do flee foxes and put to scope of gun hunters, posted much further, to the edge of my small wood. It must be said that they have a little searched, foxes, this punitive expedition: two turkeys slaughtered in eight days, this makes a lot, all the more that they festered! Certainly, they have not been very smart to make their nests in a hedge to at least two hundred meters from the farm but trying to recognize the emanations. He tended the ear, attentive to the rustling of the wind in a tree, the beat of the wings of a bird, the humming of an insect.

Suddenly, his horse blew more fort by its nostrils and the man perceived finally their presence. They arrived, crawling in the wild grass, twisting between the trees, climbing to the assault of the hill. It was soon wrapped in a cloak of waves plaited, identified by a fog of voice that overlapped, cut, intermingled, caught by a hubbub of Cree and laughs, submerged by whispers, sobs, drowned under the stream unleashed of thousands of words that failed in the hollow of his ears. He lost the notion of time and space. Yet it was not afraid, he knew. To capture the souls hitchhiking, it had to accept to lose consciousness and annihilate the reason. He waited until the node of the conversations is loosens, that the voices eager came from the world of silence is soothe finally. Then, the distant echoes of ancient legends resounded in the middle of the shadows. He recognized the voice of his grand-father, this warm voice and deep, he wore in the hollow of the heart as an amulet. It became again the child who was listening, the mouth and eyes wide open, the history timeless of the people: "In the beginning of time, a race was organized around the sacred mountain. The Council decided that the winner would have the right to eat the vanquished. The men chose to be represented by the pie and the falcon. The day came, all the animals were covered with paint. They started and ran as quickly as possible. Around the Mountain, the bison led the race, follow-up of the pie and the falcon. But close to the arrival, the two birds foncèrent and won the race for the men. From this day, we have hunted bison. The birds have become our friends. We do not eat and we bear their pretty feathers in the guise of ornament... " This was a long time already that the whites had destroyed everything: bison covering the plain, the villages of canvas, the totems sacred. But the spirits, more alive than books, murmured again. And the man with the long hair of ebony never tired to follow in their footsteps, to fill their words. These words that told him that he was not a pebble thrown at random of paths. These words which reminded him that it was Cheyenne. Then the man thanked the spirits who were coming. He lifted up the fist and pushed a long CREE, cabrant his horse in the face of the full moon. The minutes do not seemed to him not long. When the car of the gendarmerie arrived Jérôme had still not moved. He was breathing calmly. A crowd was formed, yet no one had dared to challenge nor even approaching to open the door of the Ford. Later he enters snippets of conversations. A constable questioned witnesses, it had stretched its portfolio to another. "The pharmacist... and his wife... You think well all the days here... Certainly, it is no doubt... It will have wanted the Faucher In a blow of madness... " Slowly, slowly, Jérôme understood what the onlookers were telling. Then this man in the green sweater would be pharmacist, and Martine.... "Your Insurance Mr ? " Jérôme resumed his portfolio, he wasn't shaking not, he found a paper to header of the U.A.P. that he handed to the constable. "It is not a certificate of insurance Mr.". Jérôme remembered suddenly that it had still not set the renewal of its insurance. The paper that he had to submit to the constable was that a reminder of his broker. And he had killed a man, a pharmacist, and Martine was his... But he had never seen this type. Toward noon the next day the gendarmes on loosed. It had not been able to deny that the accident had taken place any precisely by accident, that it was the result of a moment of inattention and a mechanical failure. Jérôme wondered if Amelie and Rémi déjeunaient in the canteen at the school, and also whether he would be required to pay a pension to the family of the pharmacist. He walked as in cotton. To each metallic rattling, our nest hiccups. We look discreetly with anxiety for fear of worry the small. But the first buzzes, we can no longer pretend. They know fly since little, we just hope that this will be sufficient. We start in front to encourage them. They deploy and agitated their young plumage and we are relieved that they follow us all three easily. We wipe a round object to the passage and in a few strokes of wings, we find refuge on the other side of the street. And we are witnessing, helpless, to the silent suffering of our host, which ended a few meters further down. Just a few seconds will have been necessary to identify the origin of the noise. A few additional minutes to put in place the chain out of its rail. New equipped with my paraphernalia, I completes to incise the wood. Their crackles are the alarm signals that prevent each crumbling of these verdant masses. All branches to my scope are now to earth. I will not be able to attain anything at this location. I stay, take a step back and admire my work. I welcome the work done. It was the highest and most voluminous. I will finally have the pleasure to see the rays of the sun flood my terrace. And despite all that this may include a fool, because I do not want to be reasonable at this moment where I want the one that I like against my heart, I have the impression that nothing can we achieve it and me, not even the laws of the universe. We are untouchables, invincible by the force of my feelings absolute. But this I can tell you my love, you would take fear. Pfff, I m bored! Nothing happens there. When is it going?

For the occasion, I have donned my rubber boots all new. This is not all the days that we are going to the fox hunt... A few meters from me, my two brothers; a little further, other boys and men of the neighborhood, all armed with sticks. Our mission to all: make noise, a lot of noise, so to do flee foxes and put to scope of gun hunters, posted much further, to the edge of my small wood. It must be said that they have a little searched, foxes, this punitive expedition: two turkeys slaughtered in eight days, this makes a lot, all the more that they festered! Certainly, they have not been very smart to make their nests in a hedge to at least two hundred meters from the farm but trying to recognize the emanations. He tended the ear, attentive to the rustling of the wind in a tree, the beat of the wings of a bird, the humming of an insect.

Suddenly, his horse blew more fort by its nostrils and the man perceived finally their presence. They arrived, crawling in the wild grass, twisting between the trees, climbing to the assault of the hill. It was soon wrapped in a cloak of waves plaited, identified by a fog of voice that overlapped, cut, intermingled, caught by a hubbub of Cree and laughs, submerged by whispers, sobs, drowned under the stream unleashed of thousands of words that failed in the hollow of his ears. He lost the notion of time and space. Yet it was not afraid, he knew. To capture the souls hitchhiking, it had to accept to lose consciousness and annihilate the reason. He waited until the node of the conversations is loosens, that the voices eager came from the world of silence is soothe finally. Then, the distant echoes of ancient legends resounded in the middle of the shadows. He recognized the voice of his grand-father, this warm voice and deep, he wore in the hollow of the heart as an amulet. It became again the child who was listening, the mouth and eyes wide open, the history timeless of the people: "In the beginning of time, a race was organized around the sacred mountain. The Council decided that the winner would have the right to eat the vanquished. The men chose to be represented by the pie and the falcon. The day came, all the animals were covered with paint. They started and ran as quickly as possible. Around the Mountain, the bison led the race, follow-up of the pie and the falcon. But close to the arrival, the two birds foncèrent and won the race for the men. From this day, we have hunted bison. The birds have become our friends. We do not eat and we bear their pretty feathers in the guise of ornament... " This was a long time already that the whites had destroyed everything: bison covering the plain, the villages of canvas, the totems sacred. But the spirits, more alive than books, murmured again. And the man with the long hair of ebony never tired to follow in their footsteps, to fill their words. These words that told him that he was not a pebble thrown at random of paths.

These words which reminded him that it was Cheyenne. Then the man thanked the spirits who were coming. He lifted up the fist and pushed a long CREE, cabrant his horse in the face of the full moon. The minutes do not seemed to him not long. When the car of the gendarmerie arrived Jérôme had still not moved. He was breathing calmly. A crowd was formed, yet no one had dared to challenge nor even approaching to open the door of the Ford. Later he enters snippets of conversations. A constable questioned witnesses, it had stretched its portfolio to another. "The pharmacist... and his wife... You think well all the days here... Certainly, it is no doubt... It will have wanted the Faucher In a blow of madness... " Slowly, slowly, Jérôme understood what the onlookers were telling. Then this man in the green sweater would be pharmacist, and Martine.... "Your Insurance Mr ? "

Jérôme resumed his portfolio, he wasn't shaking not, he found a paper to header of the U.A.P. that he handed to the constable. "It is not a certificate of insurance Mr.". Jérôme remembered suddenly that it had still not set the renewal of its insurance. The paper that he had to submit to the constable was that a reminder of his broker.

And he had killed a man, a pharmacist, and Martine was his... But he had never seen this type. Toward noon the next day the gendarmes on loosed. It had not been able to deny that the accident had taken place any precisely by accident, that it was the result of a moment of inattention and a mechanical failure. Jérôme wondered if Amelie and Rémi déjeunaient in the canteen at the school, and also whether he would be required to pay a pension to the family of the pharmacist. He walked as in cotton.

To each metallic rattling, our nest hiccups. We look discreetly with anxiety for fear of worry the small. But the first buzzes, we can no longer pretend. They know fly since little, we just hope that this will be sufficient. We start in front to encourage them. They deploy and agitated their young plumage and we are relieved that they follow us all three easily. We wipe a round object to the passage and in a few strokes of wings, we find refuge on the other side of the street. And we are witnessing, helpless, to the silent suffering of our host, which ended a few meters further down. Just a few seconds will have been necessary to identify the origin of the noise. A few additional minutes to put in place the chain out of its rail. New equipped with my paraphernalia, I completes to incise the wood. Their crackles are the alarm signals that prevent each crumbling of these verdant masses. All branches to my scope are now to earth. I will not be able to attain anything at this location. I stay, take a step back and admire my work. I welcome the work done. It was the highest and most voluminous. I will finally have the pleasure to see the rays of the sun flood my terrace. And despite all that this may include a fool, because I do not want to be reasonable at this moment where I want the one that I like against my heart, I have the impression that nothing can we achieve it and me, not even the laws of the universe. We are untouchables, invincible by the force of my feelings absolute. But this I can tell you my love, you would take fear. Pfff, I m bored! Nothing happens there. When is it going? For the occasion, I have donned my rubber boots all new. This is not all the days that we are going to the fox hunt... A few meters from me, my two brothers; a little further, other boys and men of the neighborhood, all armed with sticks. Our mission to all: make noise, a lot of noise, so to do flee foxes and put to scope of gun hunters, posted much further, to the edge of my small wood. It must be said that they have a little searched, foxes, this punitive expedition: two turkeys slaughtered in eight days, this makes a lot, all the more that they festered! Certainly, they have not been very smart to make their nests in a hedge to at least two hundred meters from the farm but trying to recognize the emanations. He tended the ear, attentive to the rustling of the wind in a tree, the beat of the wings of a bird, the humming of an insect. Suddenly, his horse blew more fort by its nostrils and the man perceived finally their presence. They arrived, crawling in the wild grass, twisting between the trees, climbing to the assault of the hill. It was soon wrapped in a cloak of waves plaited, identified by a fog of voice that overlapped, cut, intermingled, caught by a hubbub of Cree and laughs, submerged by whispers, sobs, drowned under the stream unleashed of thousands of words that failed in the hollow of his ears. He lost the notion of time and space. Yet it was not afraid, he knew. To capture the souls hitchhiking, it had to accept to lose consciousness and annihilate the reason. He waited until the node of the conversations is loosens, that the voices eager came from the world of silence is soothe finally. Then, the distant echoes of ancient legends resounded in the middle of the shadows. He recognized the voice of his grand-father, this warm voice and deep, he wore in the hollow of the heart as an amulet. It became again the child who was listening, the mouth and eyes wide open, the history timeless of the people:

"In the beginning of time, a race was organized around the sacred mountain. The Council decided that the winner would have the right to eat the vanquished. The men chose to be represented by the pie and the falcon. The day came, all the animals were covered with paint. They started and ran as quickly as possible. Around the Mountain, the bison led the race, follow-up of the pie and the falcon. But close to the arrival, the two birds foncèrent and won the race for the men. From this day, we have hunted bison. The birds have become our friends. We do not eat and we bear their pretty feathers in the guise of ornament... " This was a long time already that the whites had destroyed everything: bison covering the plain, the villages of canvas, the totems sacred. But the spirits, more alive than books, murmured again. And the man with the long hair of ebony never tired to follow in their footsteps, to fill their words. These words that told him that he was not a pebble thrown at random of paths. These words which reminded him that it was Cheyenne. Then the man thanked the spirits who were coming. He lifted up the fist and pushed a long CREE, cabrant his horse in the face of the full moon. The minutes do not seemed to him not long. When the car of the gendarmerie arrived Jérôme had still not moved. He was breathing calmly. A crowd was formed, yet no one had dared to challenge nor even approaching to open the door of the Ford. Later he enters snippets of conversations. A constable questioned witnesses, it had stretched its portfolio to another. "The pharmacist... and his wife... You think well all the days here... Certainly, it is no doubt... It will have wanted the Faucher In a blow of madness... " Slowly, slowly, Jérôme understood what the onlookers were telling. Then this man in the green sweater would be pharmacist, and Martine.... "Your Insurance Mr ? " Jérôme resumed his portfolio, he wasn't shaking not, he found a paper to header of the U.A.P. that he handed to the constable. "It is not a certificate of insurance Mr.". Jérôme remembered suddenly that it had still not set the renewal of its insurance. The paper that he had to submit to the constable was that a reminder of his broker. And he had killed a man, a pharmacist, and Martine was his... But he had never seen this type. Toward noon the next day the gendarmes on loosed. It had not been able to deny that the accident had taken place any precisely by accident, that it was the result of a moment of inattention and a mechanical failure. Jérôme wondered if Amelie and Rémi déjeunaient in the canteen at the school, and also whether he would be required to pay a pension to the family of the pharmacist. He walked as in cotton.

To each metallic rattling, our nest hiccups. We look discreetly with anxiety for fear of worry the small. But the first buzzes, we can no longer pretend. They know fly since little, we just hope that this will be sufficient. We start in front to encourage them. They deploy and agitated their young plumage and we are relieved that they follow us all three easily. We wipe a round object to the passage and in a few strokes of wings, we find refuge on the other side of the street. And we are witnessing, helpless, to the silent suffering of our host, which ended a few meters further down. Just a few seconds will have been necessary to identify the origin of the noise. A few additional minutes to put in place the chain out of its rail. New equipped with my paraphernalia, I completes to incise the wood. Their crackles are the alarm signals that prevent each crumbling of these verdant masses. All branches to my scope are now to earth. I will not be able to attain anything at this location. I stay, take a step back and admire my work. I welcome the work done. It was the highest and most voluminous. I will finally have the pleasure to see the rays of the sun flood my terrace. And despite all that this may include a fool, because I do not want to be reasonable at this moment where I want the one that I like against my heart, I have the impression that nothing can we achieve it and me, not even the laws of the universe. We are untouchables, invincible by the force of my feelings absolute. But this I can tell you my love, you would take fear. Pfff, I m bored! Nothing happens there. When is it going?

For the occasion, I have donned my rubber boots all new. This is not all the days that we are going to the fox hunt... A few meters from me, my two brothers; a little further, other boys and men of the neighborhood, all armed with sticks. Our mission to all: make noise, a lot of noise, so to do flee foxes and put to scope of gun hunters, posted much further, to the edge of my small wood. It must be said that they have a little searched, foxes, this punitive expedition: two turkeys slaughtered in eight days, this makes a lot, all the more that they festered! Certainly, they have not been very smart to make their nests in a hedge to at least two hundred meters from the farm but