art by crypsis
The whole idea was very exciting to him. Max had never built anything, and while he was not actually going to be the one doing this, being allowed to destroy things was equally appealing. Ezekiel had seemed less energetic about the idea and mentioned something about patrols. Obvious wounds spoke of something far more dark, but the terrible wrath of the Aquila was not one that Max wished to tempt. Instead he had been thankful for the gift of Oblak, of whom he was now riding.
Under him the smooth trot of the mare carried him towards the mansion. He was not far when the call came out, and was pleased to see two figures. One was Alma, whom he knew on sight. The other was a scrawny, scarred dog that hardly looked capable of anything. Max slowed Oblak near the pair, and one hand brushed against the hatchet on his side. He had taken to carrying it after the second battle, on a leather belt tooled by his own hands.
Oblak was saddled and several lengths of rope were piled up in the saddlebag. Max shifted his weight on the horse’s back and looked down at the pair with bright, excited eyes. “Where to?”
#maxpose {
font-family:'georgia', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:12px;
width:95%;
margin:0px auto;
line-height:18px;
}
#maxpose p {
text-indent:50px;
padding:0;
margin:10px 0;
}
#maxpose p.maxImage {
text-align:center;
text-indent:0;
font-size:11px;
font-style:italic;
float:right; margin:5px;
}
#maxpose .txtooc {
text-align:left;
font-size:11px;
font-family:georgia, serif
text-transform:none;
font-style:italic;
line-height:16px;
font-weight:normal; }
#maxpose .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;}
#maxpose b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; }
#maxpose u { text-decoration: underline; }
#maxpose b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; }
</style>[/html]