The rhythmic dip drip dip drip of our blades cutting the roiling mire, like the gallop of a thousand hooves, shod in polished silver, mirroring orangered (upvote), the falling embers of the last night on earth. Brazen are we. Beyond compare. Through the gates of hell we burst forth. Eyes wild. Nostrils flared. Stallions and mares of the deep. Riders of the River East. Tonight, we take the rock!
Mill Rock Circ.; bring extra water and a snack. It could be hellish coming back.