We sink our stainless steel claws deep into the root-skins. They mush about with the cow powder, tangy blood and bread-bones. Some root-skins, still attached to some nerve endings, feel pain and wriggle away from our penetrating claws, taking everything with them
"STAY STILL DAMMIT," I say. "STAY ON MY FORK."
Not long before we devour it all. A scent of lemon and Caesar in the wild breeze.
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