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form. Ren Allsbrook had even commissioned
plated armor for the leopard’s chest, sides,
and flanks. So light as to not be a hindrance,
but solid enough that the three blows she’d
been too slow to stop—an arrow to the side,
then two slashes from enemy swords—had
been deflected.
Little wounds burned along her body.
Blood matted the fur of her paws from the
slaughtering she’d done amongst the front
lines and being torn open on fallen swords and
snapped arrows.
But she kept going, the Bane holding firm
against what had been sent to meet them.
Only five thousand.
Only seemed like a ridiculous word, but it
was what Aedion and the others had used.
Barely enough to be an army, considering
Morath’s full might, but large enough to pose
a threat.