Turning to face up the
hill of the Tarantulas camp I found myself looking on the imposing sight of The
Wardens camp. Their white geometric symbol standing shining out of a deep
burgundy field and the hessian fence framed the entrance to their marquee
flanked by tarps and tents of their members. No doubt their lanterns would be
burning brightly in the evening welcoming The Wardens back from their travels.
As I finished the sketch I noticed the signs of a muster beginning to take
place. Not wishing to overstay and needing to get back to my own duties I
reluctantly left back for the main field.
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