She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Challenge accepted. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. No doubt there’s some little mistake.
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This video was uploaded to pok-ddal23.live on 07-06-2024 03:55:37
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