I reached over and squeezed Curran’s hand. “Come on, you, me, a platter of barely seared meat, it will be great. If we see the navigators, we can make fun of the way they hold their forks.

Rumors said that if he got drunk enough, he sometimes got his jollies by stripping naked and scaring hikers out in the Broken into thinking he was Bigfoot.

Go to the Black Sea, meet new people, see beautiful places, get killed by a mutant carnivorous kangaroo goat. One item off my bucket list.

I've never seen such a collection of idiots in my whole life.' Doolittle shook his head. 'If you participate in this lunacy, y'all will get yourselves killed. Then don't come crying to me.' Now that would be a neat trick.

I think I've been rather reasonable about this whole situation." "How do you figure?" "They are still breathing, aren't they?

I’ve seen your foot up close.” Curran pointed to his chest. “I’ve seen it here.” He moved his hand to his jaw. “Here.” He touched the place over his cheek where my kick had cut him. “And here.

Barabas placed a stack on the table and held the chair out for me. “For you.” “I’m hungry and I don’t have time for this.” Barabas’s eyes held no mercy. “Make time, Alpha. You have two hands. You can eat and sign simultaneously.” Curran grinned. “Enjoying my suffering?” I asked. “I find it hilarious that you’ll run into a gunfight with nothing but your sword, but paperwork makes you panic.” Barabas put a thicker stack in front of him. “This is yours, m’lord.” Curran swore.