The Hero Who Troubles the Heroes

Howling, whistling, the north wind is coming, the footsteps of autumn are here.

Everything is like a lady returning home at dusk, having removed her beautiful jewelry. The mountains began to shed their green leaves, the streams were hidden from view, and the sun's face was no longer so red.

The grass is about to go to sleep, dry and yellow. Under the woods, by the small river, look, a large area is full. Rabbits and wild sheep, eat a few more bites here, hide wild beasts there, race a few times, run a few times, catch a few times and hide. The wind was soft and the grass was dry.

Persimmons, apples, grapes, you won't let me, I won't let you, they are all full of fruit and rush. Bright orange, brilliant red, noble purple. There was a sweet smell in the wind, and I closed my eyes, and it was like an ocean of fruits around me! Groups of monkeys on the tree squeaked, and bandits big and small ran under the tree. Slimes are everywhere: miscellaneous, with names, without names, scattered in the grass like crystals, like balloons, and jumping and jumping.

"Parking and sitting in love with Fenglin night", yes, the mountains and forests like hometown made Charles stop his motorcycle. The wind was dyed bright red by the red leaves, mixed with a stubborn green, and the fragrance of various fruits was brewing in the gradually drying air. The thief placed his nest in the middle of the valley and jungle, and became happy, showing off the fruits of his labor with his friends and companions. The chubby goats were in harmony with the baskets full of fruits. The sentry's whistle on the top of the mountain was also ringing loudly at this time.

Bandits are the most common, two or three groups at once. But don't worry. Look, the little guy, the big boss, chasing the sheep, hurrahing in the mountains, the top of the mountain is covered with a thin layer of dust. The reflection of the sword is particularly bright, and the flag of the McGarden family sheep farm flutters to your eyes. In the evening, when the meal was started, the aroma of the food created a quiet and peaceful night. Under the hillside, on the road, and by the wooden bridge, there are people who drive the sheep with whiplashes; there are also farmers who mow the grass to feed the sheep in winter, hanging swords and holding sickles. Their cottage is no longer like a thief's nest, with sheep chirping in the wind.

The demand for wool gradually increased, and there were more people raising sheep. Up and down the mountain, every household, old and young, is also on a rush, all raising sheep. After rushing to cut enough fodder before the snow fell, let the sheep eat by themselves in the mountains, and each did his own thing. "Labor is the most glorious", at the beginning, some are hard work, some are hope.

Wool weaving is like a doll that has just fallen to the ground, new from the head to the foot, it grows.

Wool weaving is like a little girl, beautiful, smiling and walking.

Wool weaving is like a sturdy young man with iron arms, waist and feet, leading the bandits to start raising sheep to become rich.