The Loyalist armies were gathering outside of the gates, soldiers standing around uneasily as they waited for further orders. As the group Garkhen was in joined them, he heard rumors already floating around. He hid a small grin at the odd bit of familiarity in what had been a night of unearthly horror.
“Hurry up and wait. That’s army life,” a soldier near him grumbled, shifting around in his armor.
“Quiet,” another one growled. “I’d rather be here than disemboweled by one of those things.”
A general rumble of assent followed that comment.
Sgt. Gerim worked his way over to Garkhen’s side. “Private,” he said, quietly, “Glad you were with us. A lot more men would have died without your magic.”
Garkhen shook his head slightly. “Not mine. Bahamut’s. My god’s.”
The Sergeant shrugged slightly. “Don’t think we would’ve gotten it without you, so either way, glad you were around. Can’t say I fancied getting my head torn off by a flaming claw, either.”
“Ah… you are welcome,” Garkhen replied, uncomfortably.
Sgt. Gerim nodded, then looked over as a loud voice rang out above the commotion. For a moment, the army was silent, then whispers started moving through the ranks. There were messengers coming from the generals.
And one of them came to Garkhen.
Again, Garkhen found himself ushered in next to Captain Telarnen, in the corner of a huge pavilion tent. On one side, the representatives of the Rebel army sat and stood. They were a diverse lot, reflecting the nature of the Rebels. The Loyalist side looked more homogeneous, but Garkhen could tell looking at them that there were differences hiding just underneath the surface.
One Rebel in particular caught Garkhen’s eye. She seemed half-wolf, in much the same way he was half-dragon. The Loyalists all seemed to watch her warily, and the space around her spoke of distrust even from her own side. But to Garkhen, there was… something about her. He suspected she was a priest of some sort, and of one of the goodly gods.
She met Garkhen’s gaze briefly, and gave him a small, respectful nod. He nodded back, surprised, and then she looked away as one of the generals began to speak.
Meet Whitepaw, leader of the Wyre pack. As far as I know, Garkhen never crosses her path again. Maybe someday I’ll have to write a Wyre story… but not for a long, long time at this rate.