Sweeney crosses the threshold and straightens, still in clear delight at where he's found himself. His eyes dance over the various flora. He steps closer to them, but doesn't touch anything.
"These real? Or they...well, whate'er the Enclosure makes shit outta?" The potential is inspiring.
Re: Spam
"These real? Or they...well, whate'er the Enclosure makes shit outta?" The potential is inspiring.