“I don’t know if I’m cut out for adventuring after all,” says Etelka, still mussed with dust and sweat, blue hair cutting a halo in the air around her perfect features, shifting on the afternoon breeze.
From across the table in the garden behind Kastely Kekszemu, Nila looked at the baroness over the cold bottle in her hand. “Sure you are, E…” she paused, smiling over her beer, “This is only the beginning. We just need bigger guns.” And to Pool, “and you need to lose the fucking revolvers.” All three laughed.
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Ion Fyr 