Febsibena

 

“Which question?”
Febsubula

Fubsibewa

Fabsebiva

Febsubala

Fabsibuta

Fibsabama

Fobsebona

Fabsabewa

Fobsubawa

Fobsobata

Febsobema

Fabsaboma

Febsobela

Fabsubama

Fubsebuva

Febsebima

“What are they going to do next?”

He shook his head. His arm throbbed. There was no point to the attack except spite and the kind of violence that passed for meaning in the face of despair. If Murtry was behind it, all he’d care was that the Barbapiccola went down before the Israel. If it was the engineering militia, they’d done it to show that they hadn’t lost.

The reasons behind it didn’t matter.