Away, Nosotros Vamos over the Hill

Away, Nosotros Vamos over the Hill

Too spook, beWare...



On top of ol Smokey Mtn four friends make a trek on the Appalachian Trail. Starting from West VA the four band of brothers sit and smoke a chunky cigar and coffee out the tins from the last raid. Back in the 1700´s slaves had no means of making money other than to steal from the blancos...if the beggin didn´t work. Cheriékou, a native with a smidge of negro sat and smoked his pipe on the sideline, merrily whisking the eggs, beating them vigorously, where sweat dripped down the bowl. LeThanial, a dark complex figure standing ye´round six foot five, grabbed the whisk from Cher with his bearish hands. ¨I told you Cher, when ya´whiskin the eggs, butter in wid´em. Trust me, there´s a world o´difference in dem. My pop´s recipe.You don´t go rilin´up something good as deez eggs.¨ Cher lets out a sigh, and repacks the tabacco and returns to making the huevos again.

Farney, the smallest of the bunch was busy gathering sticks, twigs, and any other precious grub he could pick and find around the settlement. Farney liked exploring alone, he continued his routine tasks of gathering and choosing what´s the best to eat around their campsites. ¨Now, I know that this blackberry here is ripen, but I don´t think there´d be enough for the lil critters out here to enjoy as well.¨ Knowin Farney, he cared too much about the animals around him. When he was a lil rascal, a fierce deer and their herd saved his tail from a pack of hunters trying to gnab his foot on a freezing winter morn. He still remembers the gunshots sounding off into the back of his neck, grazing and leaving that triangle of a scar. Farney lets out a groan, and rises up back to his feet. ¨Hmm...mmm, I spy with my lil ´ol eye, ahhaa! There´s one!¨ with a reassuring tone. Dumb lucky enough, he finds a bed full of acorns and small atuns resting in a green grand bushside, where the sun shone a deep bright radiance.

And last but not least, Mathew, the brainy and brawns of the bunch standing a lil over five eight, swigged his rhum and juice like it was the riversides´s teet. Everyone knew of Math´s problem of drinking a little excessively during the day, but the lad was smart with his choice of diction and built as a stallion he could put up and match anybody´s test. Oh, did I forget to mention his bastard quality of looking like a blanco, perro he tiene un a crimson hue of hair in broad daylight yet sporting a tree bark bear hair, neatly combed. The lure, the bait, the mastermind behind of it all, Math was the bad hombre the group reveled to. Quizás, it was his charming character or positif persona, perro they all knew he meant business and knew his way´round town, snaggin and eggin what he wanted. Or, at least they respected his game and knew only that this was the best way to eat because without meeting Math, they´d be starving or stuck on some plantation milking or dying of thirst. Here, the band of brothers could go´round and make a hoot and mess. Living by their own set of rules governed by Math, the world was their oyster.