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I truly indian find joy in painting. It's been over a year since I held a brush, Ealaín.“A year!” “Yes, it's hard to pursue your passion when you're following your brother around on his adventure.” “It won't be forever,” I said, my frustration dying down. “We're getting closer to being done.” “Will it be over, though?” Her citrine eyes bored into me. “Won't there always be another adventure for Sven to throw himself into? Another dangerous task? Another perilous quest?” I blinked and looked ahead at my brother. The exhaustion settled on my thoughts again as her words stirred through my brain. My brother did enjoy excitement. He always sought out danger in amateur Az. He would perform stunts. Once, he climbed voyeur to the pinnacle of the Bardic Tower and stood atop it. He would sneak into maidens beds and claim their virginities without their fathers learning of his presence. He would fight duels. He would brawl in taverns. And... He enjoyed playing the rogue—disrupting Prince Meinard's plans, regaling busty barmaids with his exploits, narrowly escaping capture—for the last year. But I always assumed when this was over, he'd marry Princess Ava and settle down as her consort. He'd rule her father's princedom with her, bringing peace to the Strifelands. Could he endure that? Could my brother settle down? Aingeal I plopped down by the fire, spreading out all the materials I had collected during the day. I hadn't planned on making a new feyhound to replace Cú Mheá. I missed my construct, but that wasn't why I was building a new one. A concern itched in my mind when I woke up this morning, showing me the necessity of having a new feyhound. I set to work weaving his body out of the wicker-like twigs, the spirits which abandoned through the world responding to me. They shaped the wood, polishing it up for me as I stroked it. Purple light flared around me as my wings twitched. I hummed to myself while Nathalie and Zanyia made a meal of the rabbits Sven had killed with throwing knives while they walked through the woods. (I flew). They planned on making a delicious stew. Kora dozed on the other side of the fire, her head resting on Sven's lap. He watched me across the flames as I worked, a naughty glint in his eyes. The pervert had enjoyed watching feyhounds fuck his women back in Faerie. I winked at him as I wove and threaded the twigs while the spirits imbued the body. Slowly, it would awaken into something almost like life. The only reason I have my cherry is indian because I have more important concerns than my sexuality. She never moved it from there. It seems that we all did things like streaking round the block for dares. Soon the bastard was satisfied that her asshole was ready; he pushed his rock hard cock into her willing ass. Showing it, right there, right outside their parents bedroom door, magnified the excitement and of course he wanted to see “her’s” too. "I amateur remember begging as well as you beat my ass, I remember asking, but you never heard me. So yes ma'am I am going to fuck your ass, and fuck it hard." Sandra had found a large flat rock with a borough voyeur of some kind under it. “Fucking slut!” I moaned. I yelled back, "It-it, burnt!" As we quickly make our way out of the house, a few other boys who are kind of like us walk out of other rooms with embarrassing, bewildered looks on their faces. with strands of whoever’s cum still inside.