- Working with your hands is a sermon for your own soul, - said the paladin, responding to the head of the workshop's comment about his preaching activities. - Come tomorrow for the sermon. I will talk about the dangers of fornication. I am ready to start working tomorrow at dawn.
Added 6 minutes later
- Hmm... - Krait wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to catch his breath - it's good that the baked-and-fried one at least opened the window.
The sensations in the body were reminiscent of putting one foot on the threshold of clinical death, after which that very foot is broken by the door with all its might, and you fall on the porch like a sack of manure, realizing that you are not welcome here, and crawling along the dusty road back to life.
Krait looked around the poor, dilapidated hut, saw a couple of stools, grabbed them by the legs in one hand, and, grunting, triumphantly raised them above his head.
- As you can see.
Another heavy sigh.
- The feeling is like the urine of the Almighty. At least dilute it with cheap liquor.