Grassland Grousings
When I first met him, I figured Miklotov for a stodgy, boring, dried up, stick. Even worse than Max. `Course, it is due to Miklotov's' tutoring that I don't sound like a Grasslander any more. Over the course of being around him, I got to liking him better.
Since we were knights-or at least almost- and we joined at about the same time, we wound up roommates. At first, Miklotov drove me nuts with the way he kept his side of the room. Having never had to share a room, I was at first unaware that Mik's machinations were the result of cramming three boys into a room that would barely hold one comfortably.
He kept the borders of the room clearly defined, my side was mine, and I'd best stay out of his. There was a path between both halves that he didn't mind leaving neutral.
As he got used to having all the room he needed, the rules got more lax. I knew he'd stopped dividing the room when I was asked to retrieve something of his.
When our room was divided, he was sloppy, a really messy person to live with, but somehow, afterward, he turned into a neat freak, like me. By that time, we'd become friends, and he started to tell me about his home. I told him a little bit about my two brothers, and the boy he reminded me of. He couldn't understand why I thought it so strange for a fourteen-year-old to me more interested in books than in females. But, then again, this is the same guy that has serious, chronic, foot-in-mouth syndrome.
Then he actually met Max.
It almost hurt my feelings how quickly Mik warmed up to him. The two actually got on like wood and fire, but acted like fire and water. It was uproariously funny for us to hear the other knights wonder when the two of them would be at each other's throats.
I never figured Max would turn out to be a swordsman, much less one that wielded two. He's a good kid, though, and taught a bunch of us to move faster, though he wouldn't teach both blades. Mik, much as he tried, couldn't benefit much from Max's instruction. In fact, Max even came right out and told him not to bother, as poking wasn't his style. But Miklotov paid him no heed, and it just slowed him down even further.
When Highland fell, Mik and I went back to Matilda and reformed the knights. When they tried to get us to take on the mantle of leadership, we politely told them no, and left as fast as we could. At first Miklotov had no idea what to do with himself, so I decided to show him why the `Grasslands' is a misnomer to my home.
He's opening up to the people around us. Though he's still a bit stiff around strangers, he's no longer a stick in the mud. But I think he's hopeless as far as women go. That foot-in-mouth is permanent for him.
When I first met him, I figured Miklotov for a stodgy, boring, dried up, stick. Even worse than Max. `Course, it is due to Miklotov's' tutoring that I don't sound like a Grasslander any more. Over the course of being around him, I got to liking him better.
Since we were knights-or at least almost- and we joined at about the same time, we wound up roommates. At first, Miklotov drove me nuts with the way he kept his side of the room. Having never had to share a room, I was at first unaware that Mik's machinations were the result of cramming three boys into a room that would barely hold one comfortably.
He kept the borders of the room clearly defined, my side was mine, and I'd best stay out of his. There was a path between both halves that he didn't mind leaving neutral.
As he got used to having all the room he needed, the rules got more lax. I knew he'd stopped dividing the room when I was asked to retrieve something of his.
When our room was divided, he was sloppy, a really messy person to live with, but somehow, afterward, he turned into a neat freak, like me. By that time, we'd become friends, and he started to tell me about his home. I told him a little bit about my two brothers, and the boy he reminded me of. He couldn't understand why I thought it so strange for a fourteen-year-old to me more interested in books than in females. But, then again, this is the same guy that has serious, chronic, foot-in-mouth syndrome.
Then he actually met Max.
It almost hurt my feelings how quickly Mik warmed up to him. The two actually got on like wood and fire, but acted like fire and water. It was uproariously funny for us to hear the other knights wonder when the two of them would be at each other's throats.
I never figured Max would turn out to be a swordsman, much less one that wielded two. He's a good kid, though, and taught a bunch of us to move faster, though he wouldn't teach both blades. Mik, much as he tried, couldn't benefit much from Max's instruction. In fact, Max even came right out and told him not to bother, as poking wasn't his style. But Miklotov paid him no heed, and it just slowed him down even further.
When Highland fell, Mik and I went back to Matilda and reformed the knights. When they tried to get us to take on the mantle of leadership, we politely told them no, and left as fast as we could. At first Miklotov had no idea what to do with himself, so I decided to show him why the `Grasslands' is a misnomer to my home.
He's opening up to the people around us. Though he's still a bit stiff around strangers, he's no longer a stick in the mud. But I think he's hopeless as far as women go. That foot-in-mouth is permanent for him.