Primus Shadowbolt looked grimly around the group of fidgeting
youngsters. His eyes passed down the row, meeting defiance in a few,
masks of bland innocence, and... ah, here... guilt. He towered over
the weak spot, fixing his sternest glare upon the unfortunate kit.
Medge squirmed under his glare and finally broke down. “They made
me do it!”
Murmurs of protest broke out all along the ranks.
Seneca turned on her fahrar mate, pouncing on her with a snarl,
“Traitor!”
And Shadowfist thinks the boys cause all
the trouble, Shadowbolt thought scoffingly as he pulled the
quarrelsome females apart.
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