“Do you think cows can fly? I saw a cow fly. ” A dirty-looking boy said softly at Solomon’s Roads.
“And pigs can fly too,” I said, smiling.
“It’s not an untruth,” this boy said indignantly.
“All right,” I said, humouring him. “Show this girl a flying cow.”
Thus, our young lad brought yours truly to a tiny rundown barn down a path off Solomon’s Roads. I shall abstain from portraying said barn’s aroma for I worry administrators would bring a particular humanoid into custody on indict of polluting minds of our young scholars.
I saw nothing but a skinny cow with this black coat of fur that I thought was originally brown. “Moo,” said Blawn.
“John, this cow can’t fly,” I told my youthful pal.
“It can fly. I saw it,” insists my childish companion.
“All right,” said I again, about to turn away and walk off.
John told Blawn “Cari bombi loo lanny ma kalia phsaki rani santai.”
I always thought this child was odd. I was about to say a word or two but Blawn was sprouting a pair of pink crystal wings at that point. Blawn hung in thin air by his wings. Gobsmacking but spot on. Cows can fly, I murmur ramblingly.
It did not occur to yours truly right away that Blawn was no ordinary cow. “Wow. Cool,” I told Blawn. It was a wrong thing to say. For an unknown basis, Blawn took an instant look at this girl and did not akin to what it saw…
“Do you think cows can fly? I saw a cow fly. ” I said softly at Solomon’s Roads, soot framing my mug, dust and dirt clinging to my clothing.
“And pigs can fly too,” an old man said, smiling.
“It’s not an untruth,” I said indignantly.
“All right, show this guy a flying cow.”
I think “Cool” is Blawn’s word for “Kick” in human vocalizations.