Turning, Ash saw the familiar gleam in his friend’s eyes. Racker, although he was well passed his twenty-seventh winter, was still much like a rebellious boy, ready to fight anyone and everything. Sometimes even without a reason.
“I am,” he replied.
Giving Ash a sneer, Racker summoned a chair. Like a wild horse, it burst out of the small shack that served as their headquarters, leaped across the parade grounds, and settled itself under the esteemed rear of the Lieutenant of the Seventh Legion.
“Want me to teach you?” he snickered, seeing Ash observing the chair. His face looked somehow swollen as if he had been drinking too much booze or had been stung by a bee. And even though Racker had a physique any sculptor would wish to immortalize in a statue, he had problems courting beauties
