Avina did, in fact, receive the sandwiches. Just with a dash of unfriendly chef comments, but overall, it was quite successful. It took her an hour, a full hour, but she did it.
'Gosh,' Avina exclaimed. 'All of this for a measly bird sandwich on some olden day bread and a piece of tomato and lettuce?'
It was sad to say, but the sandwich did not look good. As one of the most powerful houses ever, she had expected the sandwich to be -well, how should this be put- better.
It was a sad excuse for a sandwich. The bread, let's start there. It was a sad excuse for bread; all floppy and floopy. There was no slight crisp, no slight beauty, and the crust, the crust was still there. Oh, how could they do such a thing as crust.
The pheasant -the poor dead bird. It was an unappetizing color of brown. No, no, not that brown. The other one; the one that made sure you would never dream of eating a dead bird ever again.
