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Zephyr the Curious
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- FormatePub
- ISBN8233303975
- EAN9798233303975
- Date de parution13/04/2026
- Protection num.pas de protection
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurLinda Balsamo
Résumé
When Pirojok saw his son stumbling about his hut, with a belly so swollen it looked as if he had swallowed an atomic bomb along with its instruction manual, he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over him!He was already used to the boy's antics-this was hardly the first time the lad had stuffed his stomach with whatever he could get his hands on-but this time, something was truly wrong! His son had swallowed plenty of things over the years.
After all, you don't trifle with a mischievous little outlaw who, by the age of seven, had already crammed down a mace, two axes, and a knight's sword complete with its sheath. But the groans now bursting from his belly-sharp and piercing-were becoming more and more alarming. The shamelessness of his unruly boy seemed otherworldly, and yet, somewhere in Romania, there lived an even more dim-witted outlaw! Zefir, for that was the name of the lunatic, cared nothing for books, art, or poetry.
No-he loved only two things in life: gouging eyes out of foolish skulls and eating polenta with cracklings! That was his daily occupation, his greatest joy in his spare time. Whose eyes did he pluck out, you ask? Why, his enemies', of course!The cracklings had to be fried in their tears, and the eyes-ah, the eyes!-with those he prepared his delicious omelet! In fact, no one cooked fried eyes quite like Zefir.
Crispy on the edges, soft in the center, with just a pinch of salt and pepper for that exquisite taste! He had even put together a list with the names of all his favorite enemies. Some he visited on Thursdays, others on nights with a full moon. The plan was always the same: he would appear suddenly, land a couple of blows with his mace (not too many, so as not to spoil the goods), squeeze out a bit of blood, and then order them to prepare his precious polenta!Ah, but when he saw what was peeking out from the back of his enemy's neck-a round, slimy monstrosity, like the intestines of an old man-his heart stopped on the spot! As for polenta with cracklings, he did not want to hear of it ever again!
After all, you don't trifle with a mischievous little outlaw who, by the age of seven, had already crammed down a mace, two axes, and a knight's sword complete with its sheath. But the groans now bursting from his belly-sharp and piercing-were becoming more and more alarming. The shamelessness of his unruly boy seemed otherworldly, and yet, somewhere in Romania, there lived an even more dim-witted outlaw! Zefir, for that was the name of the lunatic, cared nothing for books, art, or poetry.
No-he loved only two things in life: gouging eyes out of foolish skulls and eating polenta with cracklings! That was his daily occupation, his greatest joy in his spare time. Whose eyes did he pluck out, you ask? Why, his enemies', of course!The cracklings had to be fried in their tears, and the eyes-ah, the eyes!-with those he prepared his delicious omelet! In fact, no one cooked fried eyes quite like Zefir.
Crispy on the edges, soft in the center, with just a pinch of salt and pepper for that exquisite taste! He had even put together a list with the names of all his favorite enemies. Some he visited on Thursdays, others on nights with a full moon. The plan was always the same: he would appear suddenly, land a couple of blows with his mace (not too many, so as not to spoil the goods), squeeze out a bit of blood, and then order them to prepare his precious polenta!Ah, but when he saw what was peeking out from the back of his enemy's neck-a round, slimy monstrosity, like the intestines of an old man-his heart stopped on the spot! As for polenta with cracklings, he did not want to hear of it ever again!