My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts
Another day, another meaningless exercise. All he ever saw these activities were, were meaningless little busy-jobs meant to give the squirrel something to do. He knew how to fight, how to ride, how to do this and do that.. he'd been instructed, he'd failed to understand, listened again. Five years of preparation, and then an extra two seasons under the expert tutelage of the red-skinned, often red-faced Akalak had been steadily hammered into his mind, as a smith must hammer a sword over and over, under intense heat, to form its sharpened edge. For all the good it'd done him, he was still seen as and treated as a child. At least, he had a feeling that this was what Ser Iros wanted him to feel. They'd begun arguing again, since the series of extremely unfortunate events over the end of the past season. Those that he held responsible for such things, in his own mind, sat and walked at his side now. The only one who's name was still mostly unsullied was Oriah; he wondered how long that would last.
Needless to say, the squirrel was in a black mood. Blacker than most, in fact. He'd taken to trying his luck by balancing precariously on the back of his ever-cheery mount on his feet with the reins still gripped tightly between his paws so that he could at least grip something. He was quite used to balancing on objects, be they still or moving - he wasn't used to balancing on dogs. Even with the thick tail twitching with all the speed of a clay-coloured blur, his body still swayed with every step the dog took, as his body struggled to maintain itself. No matter how funny it may have looked, his face remained hard as stone in concentration. So unfortunate that the others apparently had different ideas in mind, and soon their talking distracted the squirrel enough for his footing to slip from the saddle, nearly throwing him right off the side of the dog. At least he had the sense to hook his foot over one of the stirrups to avoid planting himself into the dirt.
"I'm guessing I don't need to explain myself, do I." He finally turned back to the rest of the group. Aventis, the four-armed suicidal one; Nivel, almost equally suicidal but nevertheless a noble Pycon; Marrick, more suicidal than Nivel but less suicidal than Aventis, as well as nearly utterly selfless. Strange how they could all be grouped together in such a way. Oriah, of course, was the outlier. He'd never really seen her doing anything particularly dangerous. Perhaps she was the smartest of the group. He'd never really had the opportunity, nor the reason to look at the majority of those that he knew and compare them to find the ones that were better. Now was a better time than ever.
Bottom of the pile was Aventis, for obvious reasons. He hadn't paid attention to the chimes or bells since they'd gone out, but either way, the multi-limbed human - the Pycon really didn't know what he was, so he was going to go with a human who'd managed to alter himself with magic - was the first one to begin complaining.
"Of course, what a surprise. He's not happy. How glad I am that there aren't any Yukmen around so that he can throw himself in front of them in the hopes that freeing the blood from his neck will warm his cheeks." A black mood indeed, but apart from the little spat, he said nothing else. His paws did grace the wide assortment of weapons he'd brought with him, though. A Py-Whip at his hip, a Py-Sword at the other side, a Py-Pole crossed over his back and a Py-String coiled at his back, just above his tail - all held together by a lovely, tiny weapons harness.
That morning, when he'd hoped to get down to the Pits and begin some more combat training - possibly even go on a little patrol around the city, check up with the citizens and have a friendly conversation with some of his friends - he'd instead been dragged out of his dorm by his patron and simply told to go to a meeting and follow a group of other squires and their patron. That was it. He couldn't disobey of course, because the Akalak had taken the last outbreak of misbehavior to explain just how much power the patron had over the squirrels future in the Order. The longer he didn't listen to the crimson man, the longer he'd have to spend not listening to the man before he finally became a knight in writing as well as in mind. All of this was just another way for the patron to try and assert his dominance, since he sure as Hai couldn't put it up on the battlefield any more. For a worshiper of Discipline, the man could act like such a child at the best of times.
The things that the squirrel would do, when he finally became a knight.. he gathered those thoughts up in his mouth, with his clay cheeks slowly exuding a greyish-brown liquid, that he spat the dirty thoughts out and into the grass.
Clear the head. Clear the nexus. Clear the soul. Follow peace.