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Phaestor peered at it. His eyes widened for just a moment and then narrowed under furrowed brows. I’ve got to go tell the empress what’s happened and then arrange for cremation and burial. A few moments later, he ducked into the arch of the stables and sought out the stablemaster, a slight man with a neat beard and a permanent smell of Lara croft two pack (tomb raider/the cradle of life) - widescreen. I can hear you hovering. They’re not supposed to work out of uniform. A fast and strong beast, they said. His fear had been pushed down, buried and squashed by anger; anger aimed at all those who would play games with peoples’ lives. More chance of learning something useful there than trawling through the undergrowth on the edge of the estate and hiding from the rain in the arcades of the abandoned theatre. Even officers high up in the legions hate and fear them. The hoofprints are in formation, whichis a dead giveaway. Save the cheap swill for that.
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