by Glen Cook
Too late now.
"So it goes," he murmured, surveying the running lights of the fleet. "When the grunling aren't running, the blackfin are."
Changes due or no, there was work to be done. Fish to be caught, sandweg to be harvested, Fenaja to be fought, stone to be transported to Landing. He had enough to concern him here on the quiet sea.
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Document ID: 2eb2d58f-6c1a-1014-829f-d6b69b12ac5c
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 07.06.2008
Created using: Text2FB2 software
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