Whitebark Stream adamo

he did not answer this time, poised at the edge of his strength. germanicus lunged, water sluicing over him in a torrent, and from its curve he re-emerged with a valiantly flopping fish gasping in his hard jaws. dropping it to the ground, the soldier nudged it from the possibility of escaping back into the stream.

he glanced then toward célnes, straightening. "i have been here three months." she was friendly, conversational; he could not shake the feeling of mistrust, nor forget how her brother had acted in silence during their join. "winter, where you came from," and now he was pointed, daffodil stare resting upon the woman he had met in the brackenwood, "what was it like?"