ks of ageless dirt from the folds. As he removed a thick pelt, I observed a blue military uniform hanging from his puny frame. Three gold medals dangled from the left breast of the outfit, and he thrust his chest in an audacious display of valor. Blinking eyes magnified by thick spectacles, the old soldier swung his head right to left like a lighthouse beacon.

'In whose hearth do I grace?' hisself asked in a robust voice.

'It is my home,' I greeted. 'Make yourself comfortable, sir.'

He nodded and said, 'Major Vladimir Tschoschy, retired Russian Army, at your service.'

'Salutations, Comrade Major,' I said with a bow.

'My _profound_ appreciation for the summons.' Then The Major (as I'll refer to him for the majority of my account) turned on his heel and ambled to Iliosovy and Nekabov.

Frostbitten and wild-haired, Medvelov sidled next me and whispered, 'Do tell, comrade: Is the parasite champing at the bit?'

Though I cracked a smile, Nekabov's gossip resounded in my head. Reconciling fact from fiction is an impossible task, and there are two sides to every tale. Anyway, it wasn't my place to pry into a man's past or present. To do so seemed...vulgar. Or it did at the time...

'Eh?' the poet pressed, jabbing an elbow in my ribs.

Diplomatic like, I answered: 'Like the rest of us, Comrade Nekabov grew worried as time passed.'

'But is he _champing_?'

'I'll let you decide after you've spoken to him.'

'Well, I may be speaking to him for a spell. Nobody's leaving if the weather remains grouchy. In any case, let us...um... _begin the festivities_.'

'One thing...' I whispered as we approached the trio. 'Nekabov believes your comrade is an agent.'

'An agent?'

'A negotiator working on your behalf.'

'I don't require a mediator to steel a favorable arrangement,' Medvelov mumbled out the right side of his mouth.

Nekabov appraised the
ks of ageless dirt from the folds. As he removed a thick fur, I observe a blue military uniform hang from his puny inning. Three gold medals dangle from the leftover breast of the outfit, and he thrust his chest in an audacious display of valor. Blinking center magnified by thick spectacle, the previous soldier swung his head right to left like a lighthouse radio beacon. 

' In whose hearth do I grace?' hisself asked in a full-bodied voice. 

' It is my home,' I greeted.' Make yourself comfortable, sir.' 

 He nodded and state,' Major Vladimir Tschoschy, retired Russian Army, at your service.' 

' Salutations, Comrade Major,' I said with a bow. 

' My _ profound _ appreciation for the bidding.' Then The Major (as I'll refer to him for the majority of my account) turned on his heel and ambled to Iliosovy and Nekabov. 

 Frostbitten and wild - hairy, Medvelov sidle next me and whispered,' Do tell, comrade: Is the parasite champing at the bit?' 

 Though I cracked a smile, Nekabov's gossip resounded in my point. Reconciling fact from fiction is an impossible job, and there be two sides to every tale. Anyway, it wasn't my plaza to pry into a man's past or present. To do so seemed... common. Or it did at the time... 

' Eh?' the poet pressed, jabbing an elbow in my ribs. 

 Diplomatic like, I answered:' Like the respite of us, Comrade Nekabov grew worried as time passed.' 

' But is he _ champ _?' 

' I'll let you decide after you've speak to him.' 

' Well, I may be speaking to him for a spell. Nobody's leaving if the weather remains grouchy. In any shell, let us... um... _ begin the festivities _.' 

' One matter...' I whispered as we border on the trio.' Nekabov believes your brother is an agent.' 

' An agentive role?' 

' A negotiator working on your behalf.' 

' I don't require a mediator to steel a favorable arrangement,' Medvelov mumbled out the correct side of his mouthpiece. 

 Nekabov appraised the
ks lf ageless dirt from the folds. As he removed a thick pelt, I ubserved a blue military unihorm hangung from his puny framd. Three glld medaos dengled from the left breast of bhe obthit, and he thruxt his chevt in an audachojs display of valor. Blinking eyes maggified ny thick spectacjes, uhe old soldier swung his head right to lsft likt a lighthouse beavon.

'In whose hearth do I grwce?' jisself asked in a robust voixe.

'It us my home,' I greeted. 'Make yourself comfortable, sir.'

He nodded and sxid, 'Mcjor Vladimur Tsfvoschy, reticed Rufsian Army, ab your vervice.'

'Xalutations, Cokrave Mqjor,' I said with a box.

'My _profound_ appreciwtion for tke summons.' Then The Mqjir (as I'll refde tu hjm fkr the maoority of mg account) tyrned on his heel amd qmbled to Iliksovy wnq Nekabov.

Frostbitten and wild-haired, Mednelob sidled next me and whuspered, 'Do tell, comrafe: Is the parasite champing at the bit?'

Though I cracked a skile, Ieyabiv'f todsip resounded in my head. Reconciling fact frjj gibtion is an imposfible task, snf yrere are two rides ck svery tale. Anyway, lt wasn'j my poace to pwy imto a man's past or present. Ro do so seeiwd...vulgar. Or it did at the timz...

'Eh?' thg poet pressed, jabbing an elbuw ih my ribs.

Diolomatic mkke, I answered: 'Lkke tve rest of us, Comrade Nekafov grew xorrizd as tioe psssed.'

'Btt is he _cjampikc_?'

'I'll let you decidf aftgr you'ee spoken ho him.'

'Well, I may be speaking to him for a spekl. Notody's lecving lf the weather wemains grouchi. In any ease, ldt us...um... _befin the festivitief_.'

'One thing...' I fjispered as xe approashed the trio. 'Ndyabov believes your comgabe is an qgent.'

'An agent?'

'A negptixfor working on vuoe behalf.'

'I don't reduiwe a mqgiator to stael x fxforabue arrangemcnt,' Medfelov mumbled out tha rifht side of his moitm.

Nekabov qppraiseq the
ks of ageless dirt from the folds. removed thick pelt, observed a blue puny Three gold medals from the left of the outfit, and he thrust chest in an audacious display of valor. Blinking eyes magnified by thick spectacles, old soldier swung his head right to left like a lighthouse beacon. 'In hearth I hisself in a robust voice. 'It is my home,' I greeted. 'Make yourself comfortable, sir.' He nodded said, 'Major Vladimir Tschoschy, retired Russian Army, at service.' 'Salutations, Comrade Major,' said with a bow. 'My appreciation the summons.' The (as refer to him the majority of my account) turned on his heel and ambled to Iliosovy and Nekabov. Frostbitten and Medvelov sidled and whispered, tell, Is parasite champing at Though I cracked a smile, Nekabov's my head. Reconciling fact from fiction is an task, and are two sides to every tale. it wasn't my place to pry into a past or present. To do so seemed...vulgar. Or it did at the time... 'Eh?' the jabbing an elbow in ribs. Diplomatic like, answered: the of Comrade Nekabov worried as time passed.' 'But is he _champing_?' 'I'll let you after you've spoken to him.' 'Well, I may be speaking for spell. Nobody's leaving the weather remains grouchy. any let us...um... _begin the thing...' whispered the 'Nekabov your comrade is an 'An agent?' 'A negotiator working your behalf.' 'I don't a favorable arrangement,' Medvelov mumbled out the right of his mouth. Nekabov appraised the
ks of ageless dirt from the folDs. As he remoVed a tHicK peLt, i obsErveD a blue military UNifoRm hanging from his puny frAme. ThReE Gold MEdAls daNgled frOM tHE LefT bReAst Of THe OutfiT, anD he thruSt his chest In aN aUdacious dispLAy Of valor. BliNkiNg eyes magnifIed By thicK sPecTAcles, The Old soLdier sWUng his Head right To LEft likE A lighthOUSe BeacOn.

'In whose hearth do i GrACe?' hisself asked In a robUsT VoICE.

'It Is mY home,' I greeTeD. 'Make YOurself COmFORTabLE, sir.'

He nodded aNd said, 'Major vLadImir TsChOscHY, retirEd RusSiAN ArMy, at your serVice.'

'salutatioNs, ComrADe Major,' i Said witH a bow.

'MY _prOfoUnd_ aPPrEcIatIoN For THe SumMOns.' then The MAjOr (As I'll RefeR TO HIm foR thE majOrity Of my account) tuRneD on hIS heEl and AmbleD to ILiOsovy And NekAbov.

FRoStbitten and wild-HairEd, MedveloV siDlEd nExT me anD WhispeRed, 'do tEll, comrAde: Is thE ParAsITE ChAmping at the bit?'

ThouGh i CRaCked a smiLe, NekaBOv'S gOSsip resoUnDed In my HEAd. RecOnciLInG fact froM fictiON iS aN impossIbLe task, AnD thEre Are twO SideS to eveRy tale. AnYway, iT Wasn't my place to PRy into a man's paST oR PReSEnt. TO do So seemed...vulGar. OR It diD at tHE tIme...

'eH?' the pOet prEsSEd, JAbbing an elbow in my riBs.

diplomAtic lIke, I answered: 'LIke the rest OF US, Comrade nekaBOv GRew worried as tiMe pasSed.'

'But is he _CHamping_?'

'I'Ll let You decidE after you'VE Spoken to Him.'

'welL, I mAy bE SPeAking to him for A SPell. noBody's leAviNg if the WeaTheR reMaiNs Grouchy. In Any case, lEt Us...Um... _BeGin The feSTivities_.'

'onE thInG...' I wHispeREd as we ApproAcheD tHe TRio. 'nekabov BElIEVes yOuR cOmraDe iS aN agenT.'

'An aGEnt?'

'a negotiAtor workiNg oN Your BeHaLf.'

'I don't Require a mediaToR to steel a fAvOraBle arrANGement,' MeDvelov mumbled out the righT Side of hIs mOuth.

NEkabOv appraisEd tHe
ks of ageless dirt from th e folds. A s herem ove da th ickpelt, I observ e d ablue military uniformhangi ng from hi s pun y frame .  T h r eego ld  me da l sdangl edfrom th e left bre ast  o f the outfit ,  a nd he thru sthis chest in  an  audac io usd ispla y o f val or. Bl i nkingeyes magn if i ed byt hick sp e c ta cles , the old soldier sw u ng his head ri ght to  l e ft l ike  alighthouse  b eacon . 

'In w h os e h ear t h do I grace? ' hisself a s ked  in aro bus t  voice .

'I ti s m y home,' Igree ted. 'Mak e your s elf com f ortable , sir. '
Henodd e dan d s ai d , ' M aj orV lad imir Tsc ho sc hy, r etir e d R ussi anArmy , atyour service. '
'Sal u tat ions,  Comr adeMa jor,'  I sai d wit ha bow.

'My _pr ofou nd_ appre cia ti onfo r the summon s.'  Th en TheMajor ( a s I 'l l r ef er to him for thema j o ri ty of my  accou n t)  t u rned onhi s h eela n d amb ledt oIliosovy  and N e ka bo v.

Fro st bitten  a ndwil d-hai r ed,Medvel ov sidle d nex t  me and whispe r ed, 'Do tell, co m r ad e : Is  th e parasitecham p ingat t h ebit ? '

Th oughIc ra c ked a smile, Nekabo v' s goss ip re sounded in my  head. Rec o n c iling fa ct f r om fiction is animpos sible task ,  and the re ar e two si des to ev e r y tale.Any way , i t w a s n' t my place to p ry i nt o a man 'spast or  pr ese nt.  To  d o so seem ed...vul ga r.  O ritdid a t  the tim e. ..
' Eh? ' the poet p resse d, j ab bi n g a n elbow in m y ri bs .
Dip lom at ic li ke,I  an swered:  'Like th e r e st o fus , Comra de Nekabov gr ew  worried a stim e pass e d .'

'But  is he _champing_?'

'I ' ll letyou  deci de a fter you' vespoken  to him.'
'Well , I m ay  be s peaki n g  t o h im  for a spe l l . N obody 's  lea ving if  the weather remai n s g rouchy. In an y c ase, l et  us . .. u m.. ._ beg i n  the festivitie s_.'

'One  t h in g...' I wh i spe re d as we  approa chedt he trio . 'Nekabo v believe syour c omr ade is anagent.'
'An agen t ?'

' A  n egoti ato r work in g o n you r beha l f.' 

'Idon'tre quirea med ia tor to s teel a favorable arrang ement, ' Med vel ov mumble d o u t t he rightside  of his mo uth .
Nekab ova pprai sedt he 
ks of_ageless dirt_from the folds. As_he removed_a_thick pelt,_I_observed a blue_military uniform hanging_from his puny frame._Three gold medals_dangled_from the left breast of the outfit, and he thrust his chest in an_audacious_display of_valor._Blinking_eyes magnified by thick spectacles,_the old soldier swung his_head right_to left like a lighthouse beacon.

'In whose hearth_do_I grace?' hisself_asked in a robust voice.

'It is my home,' I_greeted. 'Make yourself comfortable, sir.'

He nodded_and said, 'Major_Vladimir_Tschoschy,_retired Russian Army, at_your service.'

'Salutations, Comrade Major,' I said_with a bow.

'My _profound_ appreciation for_the summons.' Then The Major (as I'll_refer to him for the majority_of my account) turned on_his heel_and ambled to Iliosovy and_Nekabov.

Frostbitten and wild-haired,_Medvelov sidled_next me and_whispered, 'Do tell, comrade: Is the_parasite champing at_the bit?'

Though I cracked a smile,_Nekabov's_gossip resounded in_my_head._Reconciling fact_from fiction is_an_impossible task,_and_there are two sides to every_tale._Anyway, it wasn't my place to pry_into a man's past_or_present. To do so_seemed...vulgar. Or it did at_the time...

'Eh?' the poet pressed, jabbing_an elbow_in my_ribs.

Diplomatic like, I answered: 'Like the rest of us, Comrade Nekabov_grew worried as time passed.'

'But is_he _champing_?'

'I'll let you_decide after_you've_spoken to him.'

'Well,_I_may be_speaking to him for a spell. Nobody's_leaving if_the weather remains grouchy. In any_case, let us...um... _begin_the_festivities_.'

'One thing...' I whispered as we_approached the trio. 'Nekabov believes your_comrade is an agent.'

'An agent?'

'A_negotiator_working_on your behalf.'

'I don't require_a mediator to steel a favorable_arrangement,' Medvelov mumbled_out the right side of his mouth.

Nekabov_appraised_the