“I like these things,” Engel said, popping another small, green pitted fruit into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed. “They’re good, but not too sweet. Not like those other ones on that tree. I think I much prefer this vine business.”
“That’s because you like wine,” Jente said. “The oil from those green things burns clean, if you ever need a torch.”
“How do you know these things?”
Some things Jente had seen, like how armies of the olive-skinned men who roamed this land donned armor and marched from the seven hills to try to rule the world.
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