Post by Alex Bankcroft on Feb 18, 2008 8:08:20 GMT -5
After the fabulous dinner, he was in one of those moods. Not exactly romantic, but light hearted. Add to that his fabulous stallion, Allen and he was in ecstacy. Even higher than any drug could. His last summer at the plains of William Magor tea plantations in East Assam had taught him everything. From raising an horse to handling it as skillfully as a Genghis Khan horse platoon commander. History said that only these soldiers could shoot arrows backward as their horses carried them. And, Lord Alexander Bankcroft knew how to shoot backward and trust Allen to carry him through rivers and ravines.
Even as polo had dwindled to the remnants of Man's show of extraordinary pomp and finesse, it remained as a dwindling tribute to a fast fading race of respect and honour. Today's aristocracy spent more time in harems and disc floors than in the finer aspects of life. But, old habits die hard. And as his position demanded, the Lord was a skillful hunter and polo player.
Allen had been raised on the stables of William Major where Alexander had gone last summer. Situated in the highg rounds of Assam, the stalllion was well used to cold chills and mounted hilltopos. Alexander had loved the pony the moment he had seen it, and the instant he rided him, he felt an establishment of a mental telepathy between them. As his fortunes were restored, he had brought Allen to England. And William Major's tea estates had coincidentally grown to over 2 million hectares.
The Waverly School was no ordinary school. It came with lawns and grounds so huge, that it would put the cattle ranches of Texas to shame. And besides it was the Waverly Forest. An area delimited by the Lord of Waverly, exclusively for the purpose of natural repose and hunting for the plethora of royal guests that visited England each year. With its exclusive hunting lodges and its more exclusive memberships, the forest remained a virgin, exploited periodically by fat men and mem sahibs accompaied by a entourage that rivaled the Maharaja of Jodhpur. They hunted with laser equipped automatic rifles, killing a fly would be more of a challenge.
Hunting had come to the young Lord's fancy during his days in India. Even without the fortune, the young Lord had a character so poerful that the landlords of Assam would bow down in respect. He learnt from expert hunters and trackers, and became a master in the profession during the summer.
It was a perfect night. The moonlight generously shone upon the Earth, and Lord Bankcroft atop his other best friend, Allen could easily be mistaken for a mystic white knight. With his favourite hunting rifle in hand, he crossed into the forest. The Smith and Wesson custom made rifle was a special hunter, and as per the insistence of his ancestors, made to one barrel only. You had to reload after each shot. Which meant that in case of a faceoff, you either gifted your wife the tiger skin, or the tiger gifted your skin to his wife.
Nearly two hours later, he and Allen emerged out of the woods, along with a leopard to add to his credit. Its skin was a beautiful shade of golden, and it shone in the moonlight. SKin acroos the shoulder, he led Allen to his stable and walked back to his room.
Even as polo had dwindled to the remnants of Man's show of extraordinary pomp and finesse, it remained as a dwindling tribute to a fast fading race of respect and honour. Today's aristocracy spent more time in harems and disc floors than in the finer aspects of life. But, old habits die hard. And as his position demanded, the Lord was a skillful hunter and polo player.
Allen had been raised on the stables of William Major where Alexander had gone last summer. Situated in the highg rounds of Assam, the stalllion was well used to cold chills and mounted hilltopos. Alexander had loved the pony the moment he had seen it, and the instant he rided him, he felt an establishment of a mental telepathy between them. As his fortunes were restored, he had brought Allen to England. And William Major's tea estates had coincidentally grown to over 2 million hectares.
The Waverly School was no ordinary school. It came with lawns and grounds so huge, that it would put the cattle ranches of Texas to shame. And besides it was the Waverly Forest. An area delimited by the Lord of Waverly, exclusively for the purpose of natural repose and hunting for the plethora of royal guests that visited England each year. With its exclusive hunting lodges and its more exclusive memberships, the forest remained a virgin, exploited periodically by fat men and mem sahibs accompaied by a entourage that rivaled the Maharaja of Jodhpur. They hunted with laser equipped automatic rifles, killing a fly would be more of a challenge.
Hunting had come to the young Lord's fancy during his days in India. Even without the fortune, the young Lord had a character so poerful that the landlords of Assam would bow down in respect. He learnt from expert hunters and trackers, and became a master in the profession during the summer.
It was a perfect night. The moonlight generously shone upon the Earth, and Lord Bankcroft atop his other best friend, Allen could easily be mistaken for a mystic white knight. With his favourite hunting rifle in hand, he crossed into the forest. The Smith and Wesson custom made rifle was a special hunter, and as per the insistence of his ancestors, made to one barrel only. You had to reload after each shot. Which meant that in case of a faceoff, you either gifted your wife the tiger skin, or the tiger gifted your skin to his wife.
Nearly two hours later, he and Allen emerged out of the woods, along with a leopard to add to his credit. Its skin was a beautiful shade of golden, and it shone in the moonlight. SKin acroos the shoulder, he led Allen to his stable and walked back to his room.