Rattleskin Redoubt picea

Germanicus surveyed the land, and Aquillius held down the snake. He was getting tired of holding down the snake. The thing had stopped its rattle, apparently accepting death. Disgust, with both himself and the damned snake, curdled behind the cage of his ribs, white hot and angry.

The coast has much traffic besides the shores beside the Hinterlands. Winds are bitter cold off the sea. A childish wrinkle of a snout.

And I don’t like the smell. He pressed down harder on the snake.

The taiga is the last place one would ford to, but may be the last place to find food in the dead of winter. Harder he pressed.

The Hinterlands has little traffic, and a lot of places to go. Perhaps there.