Sonya Witherspoon poked her head into the moderately-sized room, expecting the office of a member of the Macedon Central Council to be some grandiose spectacle of opulence. She was only half disappointed. Ben Gentry sat behind the expensive wooden desk in his elaborate-yet-understated office.
“Sly McCormick,” the young woman growled fiercely from beneath her visor, across the dirt arena. She exhaled sharply. “I was hoping to run into you. I knew if I won enough matches, I’d eventually find you.”
‘Oh boy, another fan…’ Sylvester thought as he rubbed powder on his wooden sword hilt. Looking up to his competitor, he queried, “To whom do I owe the honor this round?”