![]() Pretty sure we can handle the ‘dangerous’ Fort,” they scoffed. “We’re heroes who are almost killed on a daily basis. Pirndel wondered how seemingly smart people could be so blind to obvious danger. He had appealed to have the holiday bonfires limited to outside the Fort walls. ![]() This was precisely why he never slept without at least something on no matter how hot it was. Pirndel scrambled to his already booted feet and threw a light tunic over his nightshirt. You’re the only one with the key to the shed. Anticipating disaster was his chief expertise. Startled awake, Pirndel rolled over abruptly in his tiny cot, and would have smashed his face against the stone wall had he not already covered it with plush fabric. “The world was too dangerous not to be careful,” his parents said, and it was only through unrelenting attention to safety that they had all survived. People said it was miraculous, but the Blatch family knew better. He was the middle child of fifteen, all alive. As Fort Custodian, Pirndel was a stickler for safety-obsessed even. From the random bones scattered about, to the ill-attended bonfires, to the green mist of unknown composition that obscured the many tripping hazards, it seemed that everywhere in Tarsis there was an accident waiting to happen. For Pirndel Blatch, the Season of Skulls presented a different kind of horror.
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