Leader of the Drakos-El

"Mr. Wester," Garland's voice said somewhere to Wester's left, "We have an envoy from the Fregurd clan nearly here." 

Wester sighed, opening his eyes to the setting sun. Around him was the forested woods that lay in the crevice of Hedian Valley. Wester had chosen the location simply due to it's easily defended terrain. With only fifty eight of the Drakos-El warriors remaining and just a little more of the clan's villagers. Wester had to be smart and without first informing Fregurd first, bringing in this many warriors would seem like an invitation to war.

'I must be smart,' Wester thought to himself. He was the leader of the Drakos-El clan until the new High Council was chosen as per the law. He just prayed that the Source would help him through these troubled times.

"Prepare a meeting tent, Mr. Garland. Also, how is the Healing coming along?" Most of the Drakos-El were able to heal many minor injuries, but few were skilled enough to save lives without aide. Wester had already tired himself out earlier that day with using his own limited skills as much as he could. The people who thanked him did not leave him with a good feeling. He had just been doing what needed to be done.

"Just fine, Mr. Wester," the man replied, finally walking from behind a nearby tree. For some reason, the man still thought they were kids. Wester had long since honed his hearing to locate any enemy, so Garland's hiding was meaningless. "Most the injured are either stable or healed completely. Any others we have buried." A slight hint of sadness had entered the large man's voice toward the end. Though he was one of the fiercest warriors in the Drakos-El clan, he was soft.

Wester stood, pushing his golden locks out of his face. One strand, which was shorter than the others, stayed laying over his nose. Wester remembered the heathen Kane had cut it the night before. Maybe Wester would leave it there. A reminder of the man's threat. Wester prided himself on his unscathed body. He had never been cut or made to bleed as a child. Bruises, he had had plenty of, but he had been careful enough to avoid a cut. 

Now, the heathen Kane had nearly cut him. He deserved this reminder.

Garland, nearly a head shorter than Wester, followed as he headed back toward where the Drakos-El made camp. For some reason, Wester found himself wondering if the Dynio clan had taken such heavy casualties. It seemed horrible, but Wester hoped not. He wanted to be the one to take them out, not the mysterious warriors. 

After all, the Dynio had taken Wester's sister from him.

The End

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