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"We left wild things to tend wild things in the name of whatever god makes and takes wild things, and we went home...to where we kneel when necessary, and pretend to turn our eyes away from the tall of the trees, pretend there is nothing alive and wild and imperious hatching forever in our hearts, forever, forever."
"Baptism of a Gryphon," by Erin Brown: a flare of uncanny and bodily magnificence in The Fabulist today.