Redsand Canyon viriliter

germanicus was a tactician. he had been trained to respond to nothing while gathering all information inside his mind. he had been taught that reply meant compromise. and it was this tenet he would use each time to craft his responses. he had long believed it was the most accurate way to be: objectivity before emotion.

there was therefore no rationale for the way his jawline tensed into the movement of a tectonic plate scraping another far below the surface of some foreign world.

he dropped his eyes away. he nodded. it was a single soft sweep of his muzzle: an acceptance.

crowfeather felt that akashingo was preferable than remaining close.

all at once it hurt to swallow. this was the end then. and it should be. and it must be. "will you go before the beginning of autumn?" the shadow meant to leave. germanicus wished to ensure he made it through the mountains before the terrible storms.

the imperator wished to speak of the east. he said nothing.