🚀 go-pugleaf

Ah, my dearest remember the Silver Mountain where lightning
nearly rent asunder even our very lives but still did not burn as
brightly as our passion which we held in the secret folds of our
hearts until we reached the soaring bridge over the raging torrents
where the old man demanded the nature of our quest for passage
through the dark and dripping primeval forest full of mystery and
the sweet wood smell whose heady scent sent our senses spiralling
through those mists that shrouded our ardour and muffled our cries
of ecstacy hidden in our arboreal refuge bounded on all sides by the
pines and hemlocks fed by that dancing and frigid stream where we
raced along sun warmed rocks and dove into frigid pools as we clung
to each other in frozen delight while watching our eyes catch alight
with the fiery rays of the setting sun while our lips, though blue with
the cold yet traced patterns of flame across our burnished skin and
set our pulses racing to keep pace with the wild joy of our
surroundings.