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rebels and gathered forces, while small, were
still resisting Morath, still unbroken. They
would continue to hold the line in the South,
and would do so until their final breaths.
Dorian gleaned the unwritten words,
though: they did not have a single soldier to
spare for Terrasen. After what he’d seen,
Dorian was now inclined to agree.
Eyllwe had given too much, for too long. It
was time for the rest of them to shoulder the
burden.
Dorian wondered if Manon noted the
Crochans who watched her. Not with hatred,
but some small degree of respect. Together,
the Thirteen dug a massive grave, not even
asking their wyverns to haul away the dirt.
The sun rose, then began its descent.
Slowly, the grave took form. Large enough for
every fallen warrior.
He had to go to Morath. Soon.