When Roland was atop the catwalk above the store-house's floor, he looked around, letting his eyes wander to each window that was able to be opened, the large, sliding double-doors at the front which almost took up an entire wall, and two smaller ones made for one person to walk in or out of.
He had no time to marvel in the wonder of the accomplishments of a long-extinct race, or what this place would have been like during operational times. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Defending himself and this new wolf, “Red Eyes” as he called himself.
“My name is Roland.” He replied, nibbling his lip for a moment.
“Well I'm glad it's you I ran into, rather than this other.” He said, gripping one of his throwing spears, ready to drift it into the torso of the first thing that walked into the warehouse. He let his militia training “take over”.
“Who are we up against?” He asked, looking toward Eric. “What is he armed with, and what might his potential battle-plans be?”
Word Count :: 182
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