Da

I stuffed down the need for vengeance. Held it inside and let it ferment. My first objective is to manage to survive. I’m freezing cold, can feel the icy water of the river in my bones, flowing through my veins. I need to dry off and get warm clothes.

I must stay hidden though. My so-called friends will only strike me down again. They must continue to think me deceased. I huddle under the bridge for warmth until I spy a traveler passing, a trapper or trader. He bears a passing resemblance to me. In Siberia we breed for strength. Nothing survives the winter if it isn’t as strong as possible. It’s a simple matter to waylay the traveler and knock him ****. I take his gun and clothing, dress him in my own, then start inflicting the same injuries on his person that were done unto me. With a word of thanks, I drop him into the river. Idi s Bogom.

The next priority must be sustenance and shelter, and possibly relief for the obscenely powerful erection that is causing me to walk in a stooped gait. The answer to that comes to me in a flash. The sisters. The Black Duchesses.