Camp Haley, Aldonya State
The Westernesse States of Ambrosia
President Robert Hirschfeld winced as his wife Ellen was lowered down yet another excruciating stone stair to meet the helicopter pad which perched over Ambrosia's stretch of the Great White Lake. She had been a marathon runner, a mother, and now a grandmother to grandchildren which poured out curiously to see if President Breckingridge's children had tagged along.
In that moment of ear bursting touchdown some generations of multi-generational families visiting Camp Haley prevailed when Clem, the Hirschfeld's Elben Daschund ran into a wire fence meant to keep back children around the helipad. "Irony on that pooch" Robert said and smirked
to himself behind a camouflage of white and black beard spots.
As the Sylvanian helicopter began to settle the Hirschfeld family formed up in their khaki pants or floral dresses, peeking over the shoulders of each other at what would emerge. Robert walked towards the opening door of the helicopter with a subdued limp, a decades pronounced policing injury, and looked back towards his wife Pamela who held a handkerchief to her face crying to see her grandchildren in such awe of the Sylvanian helicopter and prospective visitors.
The Westernesse States of Ambrosia
President Robert Hirschfeld winced as his wife Ellen was lowered down yet another excruciating stone stair to meet the helicopter pad which perched over Ambrosia's stretch of the Great White Lake. She had been a marathon runner, a mother, and now a grandmother to grandchildren which poured out curiously to see if President Breckingridge's children had tagged along.
In that moment of ear bursting touchdown some generations of multi-generational families visiting Camp Haley prevailed when Clem, the Hirschfeld's Elben Daschund ran into a wire fence meant to keep back children around the helipad. "Irony on that pooch" Robert said and smirked
to himself behind a camouflage of white and black beard spots.
As the Sylvanian helicopter began to settle the Hirschfeld family formed up in their khaki pants or floral dresses, peeking over the shoulders of each other at what would emerge. Robert walked towards the opening door of the helicopter with a subdued limp, a decades pronounced policing injury, and looked back towards his wife Pamela who held a handkerchief to her face crying to see her grandchildren in such awe of the Sylvanian helicopter and prospective visitors.
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