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Horace normally didn't need anyone else to save his life. He was pretty skilled at doing it for himself.
John Flanagan
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John Flanagan
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Do you think you could put that boot back on? he added mildly. The window can only let in a limited ammount of fresh air and your socks are a tough ripe, to put it mildly. Oh, sorry! said Horace, tugging the riding boot back on over his sock. Now that Halt mentioned it, he was aware of a rather strong odor in the room.
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He'd just have to lie there and die, watched over by strange stars who didn't know him, didn't care for him. It was very sad, really.
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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.
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They have terrified my poor wife and threatened my very person! Halt eyed the man impassivley until the outburst was finished. Worse than that, he said quietly, they've wasted my time.
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Horace, when you get older, try to avoid being saddled with an apprentice. Not only are they a damned nuisance, but apparently they constantly feel the need to get the better of their masters. They’re bad enough when they’re learning. But when they graduate, they become unbearable. [The Kings of Clonmel Pg.268]
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You're not built for riding, either, Horace added. I'd say more saddle sore than homesick. Svenal sighed ruefully, shifting his buttocks for the twentieth time to find a more comfortable spot. It's true, he said. I've been discovering parts of my backside I never knew existed.
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Will looked up angrily, shaking his head in disbelief. Will you shut up? he said tautly. Horace shrugged in apology. 'I'm sorry' he said, I sneezed. A person can't help it when they sneeze. Perhaps not. But you could try to make it sound a little less like an elephant trumpeting in agony Will told him.
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