Pockets flush with stolen apples, the gang finds a stone bank along a thin river that winds through the city, taking their ease upon the stones, watching the day’s traffic filter past.
“This is the life,” Fassn says, the sun warming his face.
“Yeah, this? Munching stolen apples, hoping to do a deal?” Shyan asks.
“Sure,” he replies, crunching loudly. “The apple’s so sweet. Old Ajralan, may you have your fill!” He vocalizes madly before finishing the apple, core and all.
“Will we truly give a share of our haul to Monsieur Montague?” Cang wonders aloud.
Birds above screech and tumble as the gang chews.
Logan Bright — Works 