I said in a barely audible voice, as be

d apologized. I was the last person the caring Valkyrie wanted to offend. She felt guilty before me, because today I saved her l

equally difficult person - our mother. Memories of her, I tried with all my might to fish out of the once alie

spring day, and stone-paved roads, on which, listening, you could hear every step of any of the more or less well-shod townspeople. And where without these miserable window sashes and doors, the opening of which was fo

he demand three times already, carefully hugging me to return me to the ground

otional background was obviously disturbed by something. I had never noticed

of Craftsmen, lived on it. In this world, everyone and everything was obsessed with their guilds, of which, according to brief fragments of the guy's memories, there were quite a few... With the name of one of them that popped up in my brain, I was co

IL

o the second floor, hastily closing the doors behind her with a bolt. Hardly had time to hear about the attack on us, the mot

seven - a meter ninety. Only a couple of centimeters shorter than his eldest daughter. Tight, with huge arms and completely absent chest, she, co

"skeptical" - He survived, and so do you, and this is the main thing. And this should be celebrated, too, - sitting on a bench, standing not far from the anvil, said the moth

cess to melee weapons was only a small fraction. Sharpening and caring for tools were important duties of every self-respecting "butcher". After all, every blow, cut and rough collision with the bone could remain a notch, and therefore irrefutable, in some cases, evidence that I was not used to leaving at the crime scene, and even more

s still that neat man who loved order in everything: in the house, at home, at work, and even at the moments when I went hunting. Everything I always had was polished, sharpened and

abits, then I'll have to get rid of you. For I do not w

" - the middle name, usually given to the lost and foundlings. But, unlike the little boy, whose conception story Helga never voiced, Ylva and Sigrid were her truly native childre

of the persons of the once "weak" sex for me was superior to the "strong" one, both in physiological complexion and in numbers. This fact made the ladies dominant in the streets of this city. The world of m

clothes that smelled of blood and urine. Pulling out some old rag that looked like a bedspread, he tied it around with that one, like a tunic

ll. The water in it is not the cleanest and our neighbors mostly used it to wate

e places I rubbed, I wiggled everything that I could reach. It was cold. A thin body, barely found the strength to lift a full bucket of water, and was not very happy about the load that had fallen on it. When my hands again reached the chest, in