“Sammerin, I don’t mean to interrupt you but—” Max stood up, peering out the window. “Your apprentice has set my rosebushes on fire.” Sammerin jumped to his feet, muttering a word that I didn’t understand but was spoken with the violent enthusiasm of a curse. “That boy. You have no idea.” I have some idea, I thought. “Five years, four months, and twenty-six days.”
RIP flowers
