Jul 9, 2016 3:48 PM
Pretense, part I
I finished saddling Hafoc, my war tarn, checking the straps and buckles of the worn tarn saddle. Everything is worn this trip. There was something comfortable and familiar about that. Turning, I see the tarn keeper hide a yawn with his right hand. He then comments on the coolness of the early, still dark, the two moons shining in the sky. I shrug and say "good day for flying though." He th…