KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Exciting, perhaps, but that was hardly important. "Fun usually doesn't put food on the table," he said, dismissing the notion with disparaging wave. Anything that didn't have to do with survival was ultimately unimportant. Hunting, even if you hated it. Fighting, because it was a necessary skill to know. Bartering and trading, because his sister was too busy doing the two former to have time for it, and because Korbin was better at it anyway. It was a harsh life, a bleak existence. No, Korbin didn't fault Weaver for dreaming of something better, but it still hurt that she had to go outside their small, broken scrap of a family to find it.
Sunjata's sigh had him throw a glance over to see what the problem was. Korbin blinked at the sight of the thing the man lifted out of the crate, brows rising up high beneath the unruly mop of dark hair. "What the fuck is that?" he asked before he could stop himself. Inching closer, he was both repulsed and intrigued to see a whole lot of hairy legs wiggle between the man's fingers.
Sunjata's sigh had him throw a glance over to see what the problem was. Korbin blinked at the sight of the thing the man lifted out of the crate, brows rising up high beneath the unruly mop of dark hair. "What the fuck is that?" he asked before he could stop himself. Inching closer, he was both repulsed and intrigued to see a whole lot of hairy legs wiggle between the man's fingers.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
