[backdated to early February] This was not what Horus had been expecting. He had no illusions whatsoever as to how the lower class should be treated. He hadn't been expecting the glitz and glamor so typical of the city, nor the relaxed opulence of his own family seat. But, surely, for a man who worked as hard as Percival did, there was more than this? The house was, though not a total disaster, obviously a work of odds and ends. There were bits and places in need of good repair. Some of the stone in the walls was beginning to corrode, too. Almost as if, for all its rocky strength, the house was waiting to be blown away by a whisper of wind.
Horus descended from his steed and looped the reins around a nearby tree. He went up to the frail-looking house and knocked on the door, a tad more gently than was usual for his gruff demeanor. His concerns had been about land and produce, technical things like crop rotations and yield, but with another glance at the house's weary facade, Horus decided that there were, perhaps, matters of greater urgency.