Boris stumped into the bar and settled at a table. His massive forearms, each the size of a small child, made the wood creak. Gorilla's token dangled from a leather thong about his neck. His seatmate, diminutive and long-nosed, nodded in greeting. A silver locket gleamed at his throat.
"Hello, Boris," he said. "New totem already? When will you settle?"
"What about you? Still tooling around with your little Mouse, eh, Derry?" Boris displayed a snaggle-toothed grin. "When are you going to get a real totem?"
Derry smiled. "A totem is not something you have, Boris. It's something you are."
The Paradox Of Tarleton’s Pebble
1 day ago