The dusty ground scattered underneath his footfalls as he trudged forward. A wrinkled map chafed against his palms as he scrutinized the faded writing. They would not be able to hide their secrets forever, he reasoned. The fifty first area now lies barren, but he suspects that was just the tip of the iceberg. One down, fifty to go, as it were. His chapped lips heaved out aching breaths as a building came into view in the distance. It seemed as if his travels were not in vain.

Stop f**king cooking

The narrator will continue to weave their tales of fantastic write,
Perhaps they are indeed a metaphorical chef in their own right.

Yes you are fantastic and that is why I am upvoting your comments

The narrator sends their thanks through the howl of the wind and the rustle of the leaves. Appreciation for their work is what they live for, you see.

:3 👍

:) 👍

:3:3:3:3:3:3:3

:3

:333333333333

Yo man just spam comment and I’ll upvote all of them ok?

The narrator prefers to earn their right to speak, though swindler they could be they choose not to cheat. Instead they shall continue to lyricize, and chronicle tales of those besides.

Ah, well I wish you luck my good sir

dang

the narrator is here

may the appropiate respects be sent

The narrator sends their thanks once more to those who show excitement for lyrics in store.