Date: 2007-06-26 04:19 am (UTC)
Isaev shot him a wry twist of his lips and jumped into the water.

It hit him at mid-thigh.

He bent to retrieve the ring and grinning, caught Irinarhov by the hand, shoving it onto his finger.

"Of course I can get it," he admonished, rolling his eyes. "What kind of a question is that?"

A little oversized, he thought, amused, if it fit over the sniper's hand, glove and all.

Although Irinarhov had surprisingly slender hands, like a pianist. Those delicate wrought instruments of death.
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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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