Happy Life
Someone owes me a description of this guy, which was asked about in the previous post...
- Bandits wear rags, creaking with half-rotted teeth, and don't wash for months. "Noble outlaws" will be closer. Though that's just their self-justification for breaking the law and their inability to live in society.
Having examined the paper this way and that, holding it up to the light, and every which way, he tucks it into his pocket and thinks about which of the city's respectable people might help him decipher this gibberish. (who?)
Then he brings the body back to its senses with slaps on the cheeks:
- So-so-so, what do we have here. Sleeping on duty? And in our troubled times, when hyenas sharpen their fangs, dreaming of snatching even a crumb of flesh from the lion ruling the savannah? On your feet, private! Report! - this whole scene evoked vague, uncomfortable memories in him, which added steel to his voice.