Halt regarded him. He loved Horace like a younger brother. Even like a second son, after Will. He admired his skill with a sword and his courage in battle. But sometimes, just sometimes, he felt an overwhelming desire to ram the young warrior's head against a convenient tree. "You have no sense of drama or symbolism, do you?" he asked. "Huh?" replied Horace, not quite understanding. Halt looked around for a convenient tree. Luckily for Horace, there were none in sight.

You surely can't be trying to blame us for Erak's habit of charging ashore waving an axe and grabbing everything that isn't nailed down? No offence, Svengal." Svengal shrugged. "None taken. It's a pretty accurate description of Erak on a raid, as a matter of fact.

Once you best a man, never gloat. Be generous and find something in his actions to praise. He won't enjoy being bested but he'll make a good face about it. Show him you appreciate it. Praise can win you a friend. Gloating will only ever make enemies.

As he poured carefully, Arrow's head turned toward the sound. The horse made a low grumbling noise in his throat. "Hold your horses," he said. The he laughed. It seemed absurd to say tat to a horse.

Yes, I'm back," he said, "And look who I ran into." Horace grinned at him. "i hope you ran into him hard." "As hard as I could.

Sometimes people can be too intellegent for their own good. Too much thinking could confuse things.

Now, if you two will excuse us, we'll get back to the relatively simple buisness of planning a war," he said. -Baron Arald