34th of Spring 514
Once more Ball found himself sitting on Imass holding his long pointy lance known as Thorn. It was another day of skewering crows and black birds on the lovely point of his weapon well from dog back. The three inch squire had squared himself in position just at the base of his mount's neck, Ball's right hand was grasping the long leather bound shaft tightly, the leather helped give the weapon's hilt some texture for keeping hold which the Pycon was super pleased with.
The long metal point that extended from the end of the hilt extended past a floppy and furry dog ear, a greenish colored eyes, and a short snout that ended in a black nose. The tip extended just a few inched past Imass's nose and it was this tip that the squire was focusing on intently. Ball needed to keep the point steady and in line with the little winged buggers that were plucking out the vegetation the farmers had spent all season planting.
Imass was panting heavily and with each impact of the dog's paws on the ground Ball bounced, luckily for him the crows were accustomed to him plowing at them else they would've took flight far sooner. It was clear he had failed to successfully win in several of his passes throughout his runs. Today... Right now... I shall succeed in taking down six of these winged agents. Yet Ball knew as soon as the first bird caught scent of Imass his attempt was doomed to fail. The wind was coming in behind him and his mount, alerting the 'agents' of the incoming charge and with a caw they all took flight, leaving Ball and Imass in a cloud of drying dirt, small pebbles, and feathers.
Imass snapped at the feathers, growling his version of annoyance just as much as Ball was seething inside. Slowing the dog down to a trot and then a shuffling walk Ball turned the dog around and frowned, the crows and their fellow bird comrades have settled several yards away from the pycon and his mount. Something about his current setup wasn't effective enough. Come on squire what is alerting those winged agents of Rhysol? He frowned and then paused, sniffing a bit and grimacing looking down at his mount. The dog stank like horse shyke and dirty mutt.
Once more Ball found himself sitting on Imass holding his long pointy lance known as Thorn. It was another day of skewering crows and black birds on the lovely point of his weapon well from dog back. The three inch squire had squared himself in position just at the base of his mount's neck, Ball's right hand was grasping the long leather bound shaft tightly, the leather helped give the weapon's hilt some texture for keeping hold which the Pycon was super pleased with.
The long metal point that extended from the end of the hilt extended past a floppy and furry dog ear, a greenish colored eyes, and a short snout that ended in a black nose. The tip extended just a few inched past Imass's nose and it was this tip that the squire was focusing on intently. Ball needed to keep the point steady and in line with the little winged buggers that were plucking out the vegetation the farmers had spent all season planting.
Imass was panting heavily and with each impact of the dog's paws on the ground Ball bounced, luckily for him the crows were accustomed to him plowing at them else they would've took flight far sooner. It was clear he had failed to successfully win in several of his passes throughout his runs. Today... Right now... I shall succeed in taking down six of these winged agents. Yet Ball knew as soon as the first bird caught scent of Imass his attempt was doomed to fail. The wind was coming in behind him and his mount, alerting the 'agents' of the incoming charge and with a caw they all took flight, leaving Ball and Imass in a cloud of drying dirt, small pebbles, and feathers.
Imass snapped at the feathers, growling his version of annoyance just as much as Ball was seething inside. Slowing the dog down to a trot and then a shuffling walk Ball turned the dog around and frowned, the crows and their fellow bird comrades have settled several yards away from the pycon and his mount. Something about his current setup wasn't effective enough. Come on squire what is alerting those winged agents of Rhysol? He frowned and then paused, sniffing a bit and grimacing looking down at his mount. The dog stank like horse shyke and dirty mutt.
Created goes to Euthisa
