#syn-vetra

He's not too sure why he's in a snow fort, where he is, or who he's with, but he's having fun. Currently, his favorite activity is to place his frog outside the door, and hide behind the wall.

He was currently going through Central, going as fast as he could so he could move on with his father's final plan. The day had finally come, and Pride wasn't looking where he was going. Not like he needed to, anyway.

There is a child in the middle of the North-East wargames.

The child is Drachman.

The child has a knife.

Okay, even Armstrong wouldn't be bonkers enough to drop something like this into a training exercise. What, then? A runaway, probably. Or lost-- though he didn't look lost. Or a spy, despite his protests. He wouldn't put it past Drachma to recruit children.

And how old had Ed been, again?

Breda's Drachman was only good for reading newspapers. He spoke slowly, groping blindly for the right case endings. Not lowering the paint gun; if the kid had one weapon, he might well have more.

He frowns, before starting to pack the snow like bricks as best he could, scooping out the snow from his teapot for more bricks to make. His frog was sitting on his head, watching.