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Here ye, here ye… The goose has spoken!
My Outfitter feels neglected most of the time, gathering dust tucked away ungracefully in my hording room (Garage). The spritely Quest is often whisked away like a mistress in heat set to tame my brooding wants; while the ugly duckling ponders a dim future (Do I upgrade, sell or do I not?). It has been kempt in gracious condition and is always eager to please its master, as my better half tends to abscond to the Shoppe on a multiple basis.
Hearing the plight of forlorn freedom the mighty duck volunteered its supreme granite service to friends young and old. Travelling well on strange vehicles isn’t in her character but she is of wise will and rambunctious attitude (Along with good health). Two strangers mounted her girth in hope ones visit could become one guides pleasure, sliding off into the grounds trod often before, futures seemed positive with new heights sure to be reached on this gracious day.
The Outfitters job focus was not unknown; capture the foreign invaders whilst with opportunity study the native fauna. The two intrepid explorers began understanding its grace, plundering the lake and entrapping the English. A European spy was sent to assassinate the ships captain amid weeds and wonders, quickly lured foul to traps set far and wide. While the English were in plague proportions, the spy was stubborn under guard (Swapping freedom with words on indigenous local).
Viewing these foreign objects as a blessing in disguise, the Quest left her escorting post and was bound for glory. Out of the spotlight she was not tame, leaching the water of any matter found. One return sortie saw her defend and encounter the native pride well, a Golden hue only darkened by the passing of a hired bounty hunter. The greenest envy gleamed for the side of the tin hull, its pilot muttering terms of ‘Victory and beyond’ and something versed about a ‘Cod or death’.
The above words furrowed my brow and began roughening the Quests mane. Sultry dreams of unbleached exploits were pulled by rank, once again all eyes met the Outfitter and the job was complete. The endeavour was a success with both the Captain and the Navigator suitably impressed. It is not often one loans a vessel of her magnitude, even with such stone temple pilots. She was beached with great abandon and ovation, completing another tale in the Outfitter legacy.
My Outfitter feels neglected most of the time, gathering dust tucked away ungracefully in my hording room (Garage). The spritely Quest is often whisked away like a mistress in heat set to tame my brooding wants; while the ugly duckling ponders a dim future (Do I upgrade, sell or do I not?). It has been kempt in gracious condition and is always eager to please its master, as my better half tends to abscond to the Shoppe on a multiple basis.
Hearing the plight of forlorn freedom the mighty duck volunteered its supreme granite service to friends young and old. Travelling well on strange vehicles isn’t in her character but she is of wise will and rambunctious attitude (Along with good health). Two strangers mounted her girth in hope ones visit could become one guides pleasure, sliding off into the grounds trod often before, futures seemed positive with new heights sure to be reached on this gracious day.
The Outfitters job focus was not unknown; capture the foreign invaders whilst with opportunity study the native fauna. The two intrepid explorers began understanding its grace, plundering the lake and entrapping the English. A European spy was sent to assassinate the ships captain amid weeds and wonders, quickly lured foul to traps set far and wide. While the English were in plague proportions, the spy was stubborn under guard (Swapping freedom with words on indigenous local).
Viewing these foreign objects as a blessing in disguise, the Quest left her escorting post and was bound for glory. Out of the spotlight she was not tame, leaching the water of any matter found. One return sortie saw her defend and encounter the native pride well, a Golden hue only darkened by the passing of a hired bounty hunter. The greenest envy gleamed for the side of the tin hull, its pilot muttering terms of ‘Victory and beyond’ and something versed about a ‘Cod or death’.
The above words furrowed my brow and began roughening the Quests mane. Sultry dreams of unbleached exploits were pulled by rank, once again all eyes met the Outfitter and the job was complete. The endeavour was a success with both the Captain and the Navigator suitably impressed. It is not often one loans a vessel of her magnitude, even with such stone temple pilots. She was beached with great abandon and ovation, completing another tale in the Outfitter legacy.
