Tines of Trouble

Technically a Search. Mostly a mood.

From the shadows, something clattered into view. It was shrill, slightly metallic, and audibly upset—but in french distress rather than normal distress.

Beau rolled his eyes.

There was only one object he knew that had a french tone: the fork.

Well, once a fork.

It had been too malformed to repair. So Orrin had left it the way it was: upright on two tines,…