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N 2 PDF. Read Germana anotado PDF. Vagones PDF. Read Otelo: low Cost. Edicion Limitada Online. Mirador Online. Read PDFNarvaez. Ruben Dario. Victory seemed to hover over him like a natural scent. There is the smell of a cool palace, small fragments of the Hundred and Eight. Interesting: is he also part of what is going on?
There is a strong smell of disdain, just as the son of the Hunter disdains them, grinding his teeth in his sleep, so loud that I can hear him even when far from the palace. He sleeps with the pigs. If I were his companion, we would sleep side by side with the pigs and maybe we would eat one ourselves. He has disguised himself with smells for some time. I dig deeper. Does he touch him? Did they weep together? Yes, there is the scent of tears on his back and in his hair. That is how the gods mislead men.
A new, unknown land, plants that are not from here, trees of sacred wood and a different sea. A stone from another palace, he wears clothes of unfamiliar fabrics and the skin of a young, fertile woman. Does the woman desire him?
The Jungle (Webster's Spanish Thesaurus Edition)
Their arms touch, barely brushing. She provides the clothes that dress him in that place.
The next layer is the man, again, shipwrecked in murky waters. In desperation I cling to a piece of wood. What did he do to the god of water? There are many layers where he tortures him, where he covers his body in water, in salt. Ah… what a foolish question. I did nothing to him and I am the same. I begin to suspect, and the Fates, as a result, approach on the orders of the goddess. I lick my whiskers. I find the fury of the goddess amusing. On the next layer there are more of those despicable beings; a water goddess who carries him in her arms, the sand goddess mounts him.
He must be a very contemptible man, or someone very important. A very thick layer, deceptively substantial. For many days he eats well, he drinks wine in abundance and each night he sleeps with the sand goddess. The smell confuses me. He also weeps. I imagine that he mourns his muscles, withered from living chained to a tree by the neck, like a pup. He weeps for freedom. Such a thick and miserable layer thanks to the stench of his despondent sickness. The owl goddess explodes in vexations. The Fates stretch out their hands towards the man.
Did she think to take him instead of me? This is the most fun I have had in a very long time. A smell awakens the gift of memory: I was running alongside the Hunter, we were hunting for fallow deer and wild boar.
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In his hands he carried a bow of divine accuracy and he had the arms of a hero. Now if I sink my teeth wantonly into a chicken they are sure to break, but then… then it was just so easy to tear off the flesh and run without my bones aching. It was so easy. Could it be him?
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If it were him, I would gladly give up my life. However… there are still smells to be uncovered. I still have not completed the Man. Time stays frozen. A time that will not exist in any memory, nor in any history, yet that will decide the fate of two different creatures. These things happen when one offends a goddess. A strong smell of the sea, the echoes of a thunderclap, the Man is shipwrecked again.
How strange. My name is that of a traveller but I have never had the pleasure of a shipwreck. I do not know his, but the name that will pass into history like the sign of the travellers will be the one that survives this encounter. I like the idea that some poet will hear of how I made the goddess angry, he will write my story, mentioning the Man but briefly. Once again I see him clinging to the remains of a ship, scattered pieces of timber, and he at the mercy of the waters and the weather.
The ocean soaked into his body and his memory.
How did he upset them this time? Ah, herewith the reason. He smells of sun cattle, the white cattle that are pets of the gods. Also the smell of his blood mixed with the sweat of other men: his friends? His companions? They steal the cattle and push them to the cruelty of the sea. The Man is the sole survivor.
Yes, on his skin there are no traces of that meat; the smell is brief. The Fates grow impatient, they want to make a decision, but the owl goddess holds them back. The smell of those other companions weighs upon him. He is the leader; he smells of judiciousness and deception. Pity that the trip was so long and that the gods toyed with him; gold surrounds him just as bravery and victory do.
They endure much suffering and much hunger. The white cattle intoxicate me. I strain to jump to the next layer. I am overcome with dangerous smells and almost pass out. I come across monsters that I cannot visualize, many-headed monsters with scales covering their bodies, one-eyed monsters that feed indiscriminately on humans and dogs alike.
The blood of his men and the blood of monsters fell over him. Tears, sweat and adrenaline. But not fear, he was never afraid. The smells are so powerful that they carry me with him. I am at his side while his friends are transformed into pigs when they eat bread and cheese. Certain sweet herbs permit him not to fall into the same trap.
A silent witness, I watch him as he fornicates with the stench of a perverse and magical woman. I look at his companions, the many living, who take wax from his ears and bind him to a post so that women with the bellies of fish can jump up to kiss him.
An unforgettable bittersweet smell is buried in his skin.