"[b]Well, sh*t...[/b]" [i]Fenrir muttered to himself as he watched the head of the column begin to broach the Dojoville from his seat at a cafe table. Closing the newspaper he'd had open in his hands, he surveyed the various men, women, and possible command figures, trying his best to pick out where they were from. Nervously, he glanced up to the Ko Rudo mountains, a quick flash of fear for Fr. Able running through his mind. The priest had been a military chaplain before he'd been settled here, and things like this tended to grate on the Father's goodwill heavily. Sighing exhaustedly, he decided that what would happen would happen, and trusted in Able's ability to control his own emotions. Instead, the Wolf focused once more on what readings he could pick up off of the vanguard of the column, and whether or not these would be the kind of men to head their armies from the front, or command them from the rear, though he supposed they might also be middling men, whose resolve wavered, and thus they kept in the middle of their mass of meat and armor they called an army.[/i] "[b]This is going to be no small amount of trouble, I reckon...[/b]"