On the move
The mid-afternoon spring sun beats down upon the Maximoff Estates, its grandiose courtyard currently filled with the bustle of men and horses and at least two wagons. One is the commissary wagon, loaded with food, drink, cooking and camping equipment for the ride that lies ahead for the Duke, his men and their new - if somewhat bizarre - additions to their troupe. The other holds weaponry and trade goods. The discipline of the armed escort the Duke brings with him is distinct from that of the Maximoffs' employees, even discounting their manner of dress and the light armor they wear; the large heavy cavalry horses lined up in formation as their riders check their tack. Grooms attend the spare mounts, one for each man, while the newcomers get their own fair share of assessing stares from those who have time for such dalliances.
Despite his standing, Duke Howlett makes a point of inspecting his own mount's equipment and tack. Vigilance is requisite, even when one is in friendly territories, and it is a habit that he is disinclined to cease. It is a habit that permits him time to think, and the events of this morning have given him much food for thought, not all of it pleasant.
Despite his standing, Duke Howlett makes a point of inspecting his own mount's equipment and tack. Vigilance is requisite, even when one is in friendly territories, and it is a habit that he is disinclined to cease. It is a habit that permits him time to think, and the events of this morning have given him much food for thought, not all of it pleasant.