9″ x 12″
The year was twisted like a towel. Monstrous forearms grabbing and twisting, grabbing and twisting. That is how the year got to be only nine and a half months long. Metastasis, the changing of position, state or form. The eighty-ninth of May.
Here we see the Wastrels covered in hair. Maybe they have had an encounter with the wildman seen so much in old manuscripts. Or maybe Cilice has taken his hairshirt one step too far.