No schism occurs without a few pangs and regrets, of course. The animals had heretical ideas, but sometimes they seemed herer than we were. Maybe it was because bits and bytes flew over their heads. Maybe the animals were only ever going to listen to someone who spoke in moons and stars. Of course we never would have stooped to that, pandering to wallabies and penguins, handing out stars like handing out candy. If only there had been some river that could have washed all that magic off, all that moonshine, without washing them away as well.
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