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Summary
Charles reached back into his bag for a new pencil. He shifted forward in his seat and peered out over the race track. He could spot Verstappen the second he came out of the chute. The horses pulling his chariot shone under the setting sun, their chestnut coats visibly clean. His eyes trailed upwards from their harnesses to the chariot itself. It was painted a vivid, dark blue. Its gold leafing detail was almost as bright as the horses were.
Max himself was the last thing Charles looked at. His xystis was heavily pleated, an ivory color that almost made him blend in with the sand. Charles studied him. He was calm and collected, a confident expression on his face that gave little away to his competitors.
Charles felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. He squirmed in his chair, gripping his pencil a bit tighter.