Back in the valley of the sheep, beyond the waterfall of sorrow, a lone wolf came through with a needle and threaded a magnificent sweater. The garment was a lush and soft garment indeed. It feed nought but the thirst of quality sewing.
Unfortunately, due to his glaucoma, the wolf ended up stabbing the poor woolly ones with branches and gave them scarves in the end as recompense.
In the end, with the winter fast approaching into summer they sold their coverings quick and forever stomped the land in boots made of clouds.
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