(no subject)

[robinbloke]

Legions counted out their steps as they matched two by two. Waving green hands passed in their millions as they walked, curving sloping up to the summit of the rise. Pausing for the view out to lands fading into morning mist. Then descend, boots pacing out from orders barked from the mouth of York they follow blindly the commands, returning once and over until their position, like the cup, holds a point of non integer measurement in elevation.