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- #41
The wolves don't notice the near-silent huntress. She sees Franky lift his boss, and once again, claw marks rip red streaks across the big guy's face. He heals instantly.
"Gosh, Yankee. It hurts when you do dat."
"Then quit leavin' the goils behind, ya big dope. That's what, three now?"
Lanky shakes his head. "I just hope the lasses can breathe in that godforsaken pit."
"Oh, dere is air," Franky assures the wolf-man.
"Yeah. It's food and water they ain't gettin', and ya know what we ain't gettin'? PAID!"
Sigrlinn sees two pairs of bare feet with ropes around the ankles kick upward into view. One is fair-skinned; the other, dark-skinned. The rest of the nymphs' bodies are obscured by the sides of the wooden cart, which has an open top and looks big enough to fit five women. Based on the wolves' conversation, it seems the plan was to have five women. Or five nymphs.
Dawn was likely one of them, which means two are missing, but probably alive.
As for the two in the cart, Yankee's climbing in with them. "Quit ya squawkin'," he tells the nymphs. "Ya sound like a coupla monkeys."
Franky tells them, "Don't take it personally, ladies. Boss always tells me I look like a monkey, and smell like one too."
"Only 'cause I'm too polite to say 'asshole' in fronna the moichendise."
Lanky seems disturbed by this term. "Does this mean you are not giving consideration to my ransom idea?"
"I thought about it," Yankee replies. "Lemme think about it again. Nope. Them bear-asses pay well for runnin' goils and Artemis'll give us our silver by shootin' us in the face."
"Yeah," Franky agrees, "so let's make like a falling squirrel, and hit da road."
"Lift."
Franky reluctantly obeys, but instead of getting clawed by his boss, he receives a pat on the head.
"I like that one," says Yankee. "Falling squirrel. Splat. I oughtta write that down, but why the frick would I? LANKY! Write that down next to Franky's other funny joke."
"It's not a joke," Franky says. He's looking up in Dawn's direction, as she just snapped a twig attempting to follow Sigrlinn. "It's a suggestion because I think—"
Yankee rakes Franky's face, halving his left eye.
"—OW!" Franky almost drops his boss, but makes an effort to keep his trembling arms somewhat steady, despite the apparently-agonizing pain from his eyeball sealing itself back together.
"DON'T think!" Yankee says. "Ya just shaddap and lemme do the thinkin' for yas both! We ain't hittin' no roads until Lanky's done writing down your funny joke, and don't ya dare break his concentration 'cause I already forgot it, and it was a good one!"
"Indeed it was, Your Lordship." Lanky shows Yankee his notepad.
"Zeusdammit, Lanky! Ya know I can't—I mean… don't read coisive! Write it again in regular letters!"
"Gosh, Yankee. It hurts when you do dat."
"Then quit leavin' the goils behind, ya big dope. That's what, three now?"
Lanky shakes his head. "I just hope the lasses can breathe in that godforsaken pit."
"Oh, dere is air," Franky assures the wolf-man.
"Yeah. It's food and water they ain't gettin', and ya know what we ain't gettin'? PAID!"
Sigrlinn sees two pairs of bare feet with ropes around the ankles kick upward into view. One is fair-skinned; the other, dark-skinned. The rest of the nymphs' bodies are obscured by the sides of the wooden cart, which has an open top and looks big enough to fit five women. Based on the wolves' conversation, it seems the plan was to have five women. Or five nymphs.
Dawn was likely one of them, which means two are missing, but probably alive.
As for the two in the cart, Yankee's climbing in with them. "Quit ya squawkin'," he tells the nymphs. "Ya sound like a coupla monkeys."
Franky tells them, "Don't take it personally, ladies. Boss always tells me I look like a monkey, and smell like one too."
"Only 'cause I'm too polite to say 'asshole' in fronna the moichendise."
Lanky seems disturbed by this term. "Does this mean you are not giving consideration to my ransom idea?"
"I thought about it," Yankee replies. "Lemme think about it again. Nope. Them bear-asses pay well for runnin' goils and Artemis'll give us our silver by shootin' us in the face."
"Yeah," Franky agrees, "so let's make like a falling squirrel, and hit da road."
"Lift."
Franky reluctantly obeys, but instead of getting clawed by his boss, he receives a pat on the head.
"I like that one," says Yankee. "Falling squirrel. Splat. I oughtta write that down, but why the frick would I? LANKY! Write that down next to Franky's other funny joke."
"It's not a joke," Franky says. He's looking up in Dawn's direction, as she just snapped a twig attempting to follow Sigrlinn. "It's a suggestion because I think—"
Yankee rakes Franky's face, halving his left eye.
"—OW!" Franky almost drops his boss, but makes an effort to keep his trembling arms somewhat steady, despite the apparently-agonizing pain from his eyeball sealing itself back together.
"DON'T think!" Yankee says. "Ya just shaddap and lemme do the thinkin' for yas both! We ain't hittin' no roads until Lanky's done writing down your funny joke, and don't ya dare break his concentration 'cause I already forgot it, and it was a good one!"
"Indeed it was, Your Lordship." Lanky shows Yankee his notepad.
"Zeusdammit, Lanky! Ya know I can't—I mean… don't read coisive! Write it again in regular letters!"
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Mythic Scribe
Dark Lord