Sergei rubbed his eyes as he came over after a nap, yawning, he asked, "Is it ready?"
"No way, it's still early," Gerard replied.
Old Sergei fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a pipe, sitting on a small chair, patiently packing the bowl with shredded tobacco.
He stuffed, tamped it down, and repeated the process three times before he took a piece of burning wood from the fire pit, lit the tobacco, and began to puff away.
"Haven't had your fill of smoke today?" Gerard asked with a smile.
The strong scent of tobacco wafted through the smokehouse, detectable even from a great distance. Whether or not they were accustomed to smoking, everyone at the Mitchell's estate had their fill of smoke that day.
Sergei yawned again, "Otherwise, I get sleepy."
Winters heard footsteps nearby as Vashka and Pierre approached from the direction of the tobacco fields.
Sergei chided his son, "Little rascal, have you been slacking off?"