A strangely warm, still day and the hot threat of war. Felt like summer's peak, although that solstice had been and gone months ago. Caspa went on two legs, though resenting the lack of Lupus speed she had a bag to carry and a weapon belt over one shoulder, with its many empty sheaths ready and waiting for ammunition. Truly, the willowy and exotic dog was an unlikely looking warrior, but her fierce expression denied doubt. Her home had been raided and an innocent killed and the severity of it stiffened her movements to a red-alert stalk. An otherworldly figure in the copy-and-paste repetition of Halifax's suburbs.
Late morning, and a weak sunlight washed out the streets and cul-de-sacs to shades of grey so that cracking tarmac and wildly overgrown lawns seemed as mundane to Caspa as they had originally been when first installed. But she did not have leisure to penetrate further into the city, and would have to find her treasure out here somehow. Actual tools or weapons would mostly have been gleaned long ago but she could improvise. Picking up a glass bottle, she returned it to the paving slabs with force and bent to study the resulting shards for any suitably long and sharp.
.fred-caspa { font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif; font-size:10px; line-height:15px; padding-bottom:23px; text-align:justify; width: 380px; margin:0px auto;}
.fred-caspa p {text-indent:15px;}
</style>[/html]