Dietary concerns

Recipe for a pointless excursion in the hills above the animal plain.

Didn't catch up with the green trucks, and probably hallucinated my Bêbe (see how possessive I get) due to mushroom-based dinner.

So I'm in a dog hut high up the side of a mountain in Unter-Toswania, the borderland beyond the last forts. The yak boy who spied me in his acre has been kind enough to let me shelter in the leanto where he keeps his dogs (I miss Steve). and I'll abide here until Menino catches up (I saw him, a distant speck between the standing stones in the valley, tracing my step on the steppes).

So, the food that yak boy brought out to me from his stone retreat: appears to be pounded bark of meat tree and flowers from mountain cacti, mixed in a clay pot, heated ferociously until the poison, and therefore taste, steams away; tastes like boiled A4 prints of corporate PDFs, downloaded from the About us section of an SME's website.

Fills my tummy though. And the big dogs like it too.