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<blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 3296433" data-attributes="member: 13681">&quot;I'd counsel against going deeper into the cave. Rested or otherwise.&quot; He shrugs, &quot;But you do seem to have that thing well in hand.&quot; He looks over at the young men who have devised a crude set of rules and points as they bat the automaton carcass around.&quot;Thanks, lads, for the shelter. And the supplies before.&quot; He turns to trudge out of the cave and calls over his shoulder, &quot;Don't take any wooden ducats.&quot; On an impulse, he holds out his arm at Winkle who blinks impassively, ostentatiously settling feathers on his gleaming white chest before hopping, with a flare of wings, onto the old man's arm. The bird's weight quickly tires the old man's arm and with some fluttering - and a lot of muttering - the bird settles onto Oliver's shoulder.Outside he squints into the glare of the sun. Whistler ambles over, cropping vainly at the tough sea grass. Oliver pats the horse and gives Bastrop's ears a rub. He takes a deep breath, smelling the surf. The surf that tried to kill them. He looks up the rocky slope. &quot;I don't know about you lot, but I'm getting well above the tide.&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Sparky, post: 3296433, member: 13681"] [COLOR=teal]"I'd counsel against going deeper into the cave. Rested or otherwise."[/COLOR] He shrugs, [COLOR=teal]"But you do seem to have that thing well in hand."[/COLOR] He looks over at the young men who have devised a crude set of rules and points as they bat the automaton carcass around. [COLOR=Teal]"Thanks, lads, for the shelter. And the supplies before." [/COLOR]He turns to trudge out of the cave and calls over his shoulder, [COLOR=Teal]"Don't take any wooden ducats." [/COLOR] On an impulse, he holds out his arm at Winkle who blinks impassively, ostentatiously settling feathers on his gleaming white chest before hopping, with a flare of wings, onto the old man's arm. The bird's weight quickly tires the old man's arm and with some fluttering - and a lot of muttering - the bird settles onto Oliver's shoulder. Outside he squints into the glare of the sun. Whistler ambles over, cropping vainly at the tough sea grass. Oliver pats the horse and gives Bastrop's ears a rub. He takes a deep breath, smelling the surf. The surf that tried to kill them. He looks up the rocky slope. [COLOR=Teal]"I don't know about you lot, but I'm getting well above the tide."[/COLOR] [/QUOTE]

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