man

boy,” he’d growled. “Seventeen, you are now. You’ll be a grown man soon, responsible for your actions.” His glare was joined by that of my other uncles. “The family will forgive a wolf, but we’ve no mercy for jackals.”
“Certainly not!” I’d exclaimed, not really understanding the ins and outs of the matter. But I understood my uncle’s boot.
“What a world we’ve produced,” sighed Ludovigo. He’d resumed his seat, planted his boot on the table, drained his mug. “There was a time when it was a proud thing, to be an Ozarine. Go back in the family line, you’ll find that plenty of Sfondrati-Piccolominis served in the army of Ozarae. With pride and distinction. Pride and distinction.” He sneered. “Now, I’d as soon join a pack of hyenas.”
“I’d rather join a pack of hyenas,” my uncle Rodrigo had contributed. “Never claim to be more than scavengers, your honest hyenas.”
“Won’t hear a hyena prate on and on about the grandeur of the pack and the glory of the carrion,” added Larue.
“Unless it’s a scholar hyena,” chuckled Filoberto. “I hear our distant cousin, Rhodes Sfondrati-Piccolomini, has just come out with a new book—The Ozarine Century, it’s called.”
“I’ve read it,” said Larue. “Drones on and on about the Burden of Ozar, as he calls it. That’s scholar-speak for ‘let’s loot every­thing, for the lootee’s best interest.’ Would