Thomas Kinkade A Holiday Gathering

Thomas Kinkade A Holiday GatheringCaravaggio The Entombment of ChristCaravaggio Boy with a Basket of Fruit
Wisdom comes out of the wilderness, they say."
"Only the wisdom that people want. And mushrooms."
When the sun was , which are the only things on a normal tortoise mind. He avoided it, and found a couple of leaves it had missed.
Periodically he'd stomp back through the gritty soil and watch the sleepers.
And then he saw Vorbis sit up, look around him in a slow methodical way, pick up a stone, study it carefully, and then bring it down sharply on Brutha's head.
Brutha didn't even groan.
Vorbis got up and strode directly toward the bushes that hid starting to climb Brutha milked a goat. It stood patiently while Om soothed its mind. And Om didn't suggest killing it, Brutha noticed.Then they found shade again. There were bushes here, low­growing, spiky, every tiny leaf barricaded behind its crown of thorns.Om watched for a while, but the small gods on the edge of the wilderness were more cunning and less urgent. They'd be here, probably at noon, when the sun turned the landscape into a hellish glare. He'd hear them. In the meantime, he could eat.He crawled through the bushes, their thorns scraping harmlessly along his shell. He passed another tortoise, which wasn't inhabited by a god and gave him that vague stare that tortoises employ when they're deciding whether something is there to be eaten or made love toOm. He tore the branches aside, regardless