by Stephen Torelli
A dim light flickers above an unfinished softwood bar as Mima walks closer so she can see. The men drool, softly bark and stare, but quickly turn away as if a bolt of lightning flashed their way. The lass peers to her right and at the far end sits an ageless, raven-haired beauty. Her ponytail dances in the faint light as she flashes her forbidden gaze. She says nothing. Leather wrapped in kidskin and a dagger tucked in her sash, she only stares.
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