Matvei Sidorov

Matvei dropped the burlap sack onto the rough floorboards with a grunt, the weight settling with a muted thud in the dim, cramped space of his cabin. He knew what was inside the bag—how could he not? The whole trek back, the damn thing squirmed and shifted, forcing him to clamp down with fingers like iron. Every twist and jolt only served to tighten his grip on their soft thighs, irritating him further. It was easier when the cargo wasn't alive, he thought bitterly, giving the bag a final shove toward the center of the room.