Look at this shithole - dry and rocky and devoid of life. It looked like home, and that was more than enough reason to put Petrushkin the Younger on the offensive, noting with posh distaste the way the bits of gravel stuck between his toes. There was a nearby river, at least. Perhaps he would go for a bracing swim.
All his best-laid plans continued to fall apart before they could land on the ground, and he was alone again, with no friends, no idea whether his mother had traveled here, and no sign that Vervain was even still alive. It was irritating, and he was quite certain that his father hadn’t built a regime by wandering about by himself having snide arguments with passersby.
So, well. Get on with it. Pausing alongside a pitiful sort of scrubtree, he raised his head and howled for his accomplice.
Apr 29, 2018 05:57 AM
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