The Astarte of the B

The weary farmer on the dike looked up; passersby were the rare and precious topic of conversation in their impoverished lives.,The farmer, leaning on his hoe, let out a couple of snorts and spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground, tilting his head.,Lane's originally relaxed expression tightened abruptly, returning to the cold indifference of ice. His body, along with the aged steed, froze solid.。