Scrap, scrap, scrap... It was a slow, patient sound. The sharpening stone slide over the blade edge of J'adore's knife, it's master controlling it's work. Today was the day. His chilren and his mate, were safely tucked inside the cabin. Nobody would disturb them as their house was a small ways away from the village centre. Besides they were as much victim's of Maska's power surge as the courtisans and the dreamers. The Spaniard was ready, his weapons were sharp and his body was painted. His stallion, proud and strong, and his mare, silent and graceful were both prepared. Neither of them spooked as shouts went up around the territory. Both had a fearful look in their eyes.
'Es el momento de la guerra, me perdone este derramamiento de sangre...' he said calmly as he set down his stone. Sliding the knives into his waist belt and the poles into his shoulder belt. His tomahawk remained in his hand, his quick access weapon. He had chosen 'Quera as his mount for the battle. Simply because Luz was his back up plan. Her dark coat allowed her to blend into the scenery. Ptitsa was ready also, she rested atop the cabin, waiting for her master's signal. And come it did. He stood and paced forward, mounting his horse and spurring him on, Luz following. Ptitsa took to the sky. All had one thing on their mind.
War
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