Thomas Kinkade The Rose Garden

Thomas Kinkade The Rose GardenThomas Kinkade Sunset on Lamplight LaneThomas Kinkade Sunday OutingThomas Kinkade Studio in The GardenThomas Kinkade San Francisco Lombard Street
Snow glittered on the rimward outriders of the Ramtop mountains, that great world‑spanning range which, where it curves around the Circle Sea, forms a natural wall between Klatch and the great flat Sto plains.
It was the home of rogue glaciers and prowling avalanches and high, silent fields of snow.
And yetis. Yetis are a high‑altitude species of troll, and quite unaware that eating people is out of fashion. Their view is: if it moves, eat it. If it doesn’t, then wait for it to move. And then eat it.
They’d been listening all day to the sounds. Echoes had bounced from peak to peak along the frozen ranges until, now‘Good and deep today,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s gonna move fast in this, right? We lie down in the snow, they won’t see us till they’re right on top of us, we panic ‘em, it’s Big Eats time.’ He waved his enormous paws in the air. ‘Very heavy, my cousin said. They’ll not move fast, you mark , it was a steady dull rumble.‘My cousin’, said one of them, idly probing a hollow tooth with a claw, ‘said they was enormous grey animals. Elephants.’‘Bigger’n us?’ said the other yeti.‘Nearly as bigger’n us,’ said the first yeti. ‘Loads of them, he said. More than he could count.’The second yeti sniffed the wind and appeared to consider this.‘Yeah, well,’ he said, gloomily. ‘Your cousin can’t count above one.’‘He said there was lots of big ones. Big fat grey elephants, all climbing, all roped together. Big and slow. All carrying lots of oograah.’Ah.The first yeti indicated the vast sloping snowfield.