The Art of War (Nimble)
Jan 11, 2015 20:45:50 GMT -5
Post by Peregrine on Jan 11, 2015 20:45:50 GMT -5
LET YOUR PLANS BE DARK
AND IMPENETRABLE AS NIGHT
AND IMPENETRABLE AS NIGHT
Their kingdom was a small one, yet, but it was enough for now. Tzafar had been as busy as she’d ever been, even when doing the bidding of her Master on behalf of the Badai. It was through the proverbial sweat of her brow that she sowed her own storm, her own Tempest, and brought to life something of her own. That late afternoon, as the sun was beginning to sink toward the earth for evening time, as the clouds gathered and the wind began to pick up, the Commandant waited. She’d not been there long, sitting facing the barbed wire that surrounded their land, waiting for her comrade. It was not a social visit; they’d be working, possibly into the night.
The nearby land was vacant, until it merged back into civilization. Nothing but a few roads passed them, and roads hardly served canine-kind like it did man. It afforded them advantages in the way of surveillance and protection; very few would come wandering here unless they did so intentionally, and unless under the cover of night or the neglect of her men, they would be seen immediately. To look inward was to see an area dotted by a myriad of compounds of varying purpose. This place, though relatively small in terms of military bases, though Tzafar hardly knew it, was built to sustain a fighting force (which she did know). It was built by human hands, for human hands; but, with some studying and adapting, canine jaws could put to use some of the things found here.
That would be the purpose of this meeting. Rowan was supposedly not a dog of combat, but of intellect. Tzafar would figure out to what extent tonight. Defense, offense, and everything in between would be their bedfellows. The Kangal would finally be able to breath, with this manner of work that of conversation and though rather than of physical blows. As much as she was consumed by the latter, it was always good to have some variety in one’s life. The scarred female sat waiting with a soldier's serenity, tense and with tattered ears trained and alert. It was not a habit she was not keen to drop now.
AND WHEN YOU MOVE,
FALL LIKE A THUNDERBOLT
FALL LIKE A THUNDERBOLT
nimble