Will they, however, be enough?
The question made nest and devoured at Jarza's spirit like a wolf at a winter-starved bone. He stood motionless, silhouetted against the dying sun on the West, whereit plummeted behind the broken peaks as if fleeing the coming dark. The light was the color of bruised plums and cooling blood.
A thousand enemies paced ther borders, and their shields were already cracked.
Jarza knew the matter of their doom: if they faltered, they would be hunted; if they failed, they would be unmade; and if they were destroyed, every stone they had laid and every life they had forged would be ground into the dust of a forgotten age.
Pushed away from the fog they had just crossed, to once more be among the blinds.
