<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Chariots on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/chariots/</link><description>Recent content in Chariots on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><atom:link href="/tags/chariots/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Human Interest</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/human-interest/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/human-interest/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="human_interest4.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Human Interest&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)_&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Part Five&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 8: Chariots and Fire!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ella was chatting with Master Fredricks as they stood in the serving line while Irish half talked with, half interviewed, his ponygirl wife, Windsong. A few moments later, Irish was holding Windsong in her arms as she sobbed softly. Finally, Windsong regained her composure and thanked Irish for being so understanding.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;“Chicken or beef?” the chef asked Windsong, breaking her somber mood.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>