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Harvest's Wheats
Chapter 1: The Fire
As the sun proceeded towards torching it's magnetic light onto the steep, green coated hill that just lay behind and in front of a miniscule farmhouse, something eerily similar and deeply unsettling strode itself in the vast distance. An impeccably uneasy sensation of exceedingly incredible subtlety ranched through the pig's brain as he noticed, turning his head left to the continuing hill where the evening sun was lowering itself upon the beautifully stunning countryside to the right where a crow with a broken wing had been noticed after the sound of one bullet from a single shotgun. The wing had broken off and in a moment of deep silence, the pig went on to be wise enough to remind himself that this was particularly common in the animal kingdom and why give in to an emotionally draining reaction like it was something dangerous that suddenly came up without warning or any welcoming feeling of intentional gratitude. Just underneath the pig's trotters in the little wooden pen lay an ant dying in rest in the endless sea of electirfyingly dirty mud. Next to this pen the farmhouse remained. This farmhouse was home to Farmer McCreden who was enjoying a breakfast of marmalade toast before heading outside in his blue coloured coat towards the pen to the bring the pigs back into the barn before the big bright moon came out and dazzled itself over the bright green hill that contained continious layers of thick grass that slowly slowly breezed in the calm, eerie wind and farmhouse at the quick appearence of hooting owls flying over the British countryside before descending into the woodland that lay an infrequent distance from the pen. "Looks like the weather's going to be frustratingly rough tonight." Farmer McCreden whispered to himself sighing in an exceedingly depressed state. Although the pig could hear and was always listening which was presently invisible to being known by the farmer as of present day.
As the sun proceeded towards torching it's magnetic light onto the steep, green coated hill that just lay behind and in front of a miniscule farmhouse, something eerily similar and deeply unsettling strode itself in the vast distance. An impeccably uneasy sensation of exceedingly incredible subtlety ranched through the pig's brain as he noticed, turning his head left to the continuing hill where the evening sun was lowering itself upon the beautifully stunning countryside to the right where a crow with a broken wing had been noticed after the sound of one bullet from a single shotgun. The wing had broken off and in a moment of deep silence, the pig went on to be wise enough to remind himself that this was particularly common in the animal kingdom and why give in to an emotionally draining reaction like it was something dangerous that suddenly came up without warning or any welcoming feeling of intentional gratitude. Just underneath the pig's trotters in the little wooden pen lay an ant dying in rest in the endless sea of electirfyingly dirty mud. Next to this pen the farmhouse remained. This farmhouse was home to Farmer McCreden who was enjoying a breakfast of marmalade toast before heading outside in his blue coloured coat towards the pen to the bring the pigs back into the barn before the big bright moon came out and dazzled itself over the bright green hill that contained continious layers of thick grass that slowly slowly breezed in the calm, eerie wind and farmhouse at the quick appearence of hooting owls flying over the British countryside before descending into the woodland that lay an infrequent distance from the pen. "Looks like the weather's going to be frustratingly rough tonight." Farmer McCreden whispered to himself sighing in an exceedingly depressed state. Although the pig could hear and was always listening which was presently invisible to being known by the farmer as of present day.
