@sixofcrowsnet heist: fjerda
storm has set the heavens scowling, whirling gusty blizzards wild, now they sound like beasts a-growling, now a-wailing like a child. let us drink for grief, let’s drown it, comrade of my wretched youth, where’s the jar? pour out and down it, wine will make us less uncouth.
– aleksandr pushkin, ‘winter evening’













