Alana and the prince stood on the shores of her beaches, the beaches that belonged to the Island of Dimona. Towards the far back of the ocean, she could see the ships from Apex, still swaying within the currents.
They glared at the vessels, unsure why they were still stationed on her land, her jurisdiction. She pulled a horn to her mouth.
OOOOOOoooooo!
The sound came out, like horn of some sort. She spoke into the hallowed horn, calling out to her enemies.
"PLEASE VACATE THE PREMISES! THE QUEEN REPEATS: PLEASE VACATE THE PREMISES," she yelled out to the vessels in the sea. Her army stood behind her, her navy were in their own ships, and her air force hovered above in their aircrafts, gifted to them by the mutants.
Even with all of this, the Apex navy remained where they were, no one back out, just stayed in the currents.
Alana sighed heavily. She looked at the prince next to her, who was staring at her. He glanced at her with sharp eyes and moved his lips silently. She nodded at him. He walked forward, took the horn from her hands, and lifted it to his lips, blowing it softly again.
"WE WILL ATTACK. THE PRINCE OF DIMONA REPEATS: WE WILL ATTACK!"
The horn's amplified echo rolled across the waves, met only by the creak of rigging from the stationary Apex fleet and the distant cry of seabirds circling overhead.
Alana clenched her fists as she scanned the horizon. Not a single sail shifted; not a single cannon port opened. The ships sat like floating tombs beneath a sky bruised purple by twilight.
Beside her, the prince lowered the horn, his jaw tightening as he tracked the unnatural stillness. His breath misted in the suddenly chill air.
"What should we do?" The prince asked. "We warned them twice."
Alana nodded her head. "We attack. Report in the horn, that we will give them two hours for them to be gone. If not then yes," she said. "We attack."
OOOOOOoooooo!
The prince's second blast echoed Alana's command across the darkening water. a final, hollow ultimatum swallowed by the vast indifference of the sea.
Beside her, the prince shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, his gaze never leaving the horizon where the Apex ships lay anchored, silent and unmoving as gravestones.
Dimona's aircraft circling above, a sound like distant thunder trapped in metal bellies. They were ready; they were all ready.
Alana turned without a word. She didn't look back at the prince, didn't glance at the tense faces of her army. She just hoped Sous would get back soon to assist.
Riley stood on the deck of the captain's ship. She heared the demands from the elves and smirked. She turned to her crew, her military. They would not be abiding by her demands.
She entered the captain's quarters. She walked over to the chest that contained her personal weaponry. She opened it and grabbed her gun, a rifle to be exact.
She loaded the rifle with bullets and cocked it. She slid her gun into its holster on her belt. She grabbed a sword and slid it into her belt scabbard. She grabbed knives and slid them into her boot holsters. She grabbed grenades and slid them into her grenade pouch.
Weapon after weapon, she loaded until it came down to her warriors. She ran up the stairs, shouting at them to load up with their weapons, and to take position on deck.
Below deck, the armory door groaned open on rusted hinges. Inside, racks gleamed dully under a single swaying lantern: rows of rifles stood like silent sentinels, crates of ammunition stacked ceiling-high.
The warriors assembled behind her, a forest of tense shoulders and clenched jaws. On deck, Riley looked through the telescope, able to see from ship to ship. She saw each of Apex's vessels ready to take her command.
Static came in through her walkie talkie. She took it from her hip. "Present," she said to her commander, Zhiliary.
"So they're wanting to fight?" The Alpha asked, laughing on the other side. Sous isn't beside her," the Alpha said.
"They have a good size military, Alpha," Riley said.
"Oh?"
Riley raised an eyebrow as she stared at the dimly lit horizon. Her lips curled slightly, a silent acknowledgment that Sous's absence was indeed peculiar.
She slid the walkie-talkie back onto her hip without another word, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of rifle stock. Two hours.
Sous chased after the threaders, who were chasing after the pixies who were leading them to one of the few Groken trees left.
The jungle canopy swallowed Sous whole as she plunged into the humid daylight beneath the trees.
Above, the dimming sky was choked out by a lattice of thick vines and broad leaves, leaving the forest floor steeped in darkness. The air hung heavy with the scent of rotting vegetation and damp earth.
Every rustle in the underbrush, a skittering lizard, a falling seed pod, snapped her attention away from her aching muscles. SHe moved low and swift.
She was exhausted and at this point all she was thinking about was getting back to Kara. No wonder Faye wanted to get back to Makala and her new born child. Fighting was exhausting.
She landed on the tree branch.
Crack!
Sous fell, landing hard on the jungle floor. Faye swooped in, landing next to her.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she responded to the priestess. "Just tired. We're getting too old for this," she said rising to her feet, holding her back.
Faye laughed, knowing the feeling all too well. We're in our 40s so that makes sense."
Their pursuit resumed without a word spoken. The threaders', their threads leaving faint strings, disturbed patches of fern and snapped twigs, led deeper into the oppressive gloom.
Above, the pixies wings glimmered in the light that came through the canopy. Finally, there it was, another Groken tree.
The threaders came to a halt, allowing Faye to go to the front to be beside the threader from Canas. The two women looked at one another. Just a short pause and then they began to thread the holes that the magae created.
Sous stood back with Tany by her side, still holding her hip. Tany looked at Sous. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," she said to Sous. "Getting old and shit!"
"Shut up, Tany!" Sous yelled, balling her fist and, a vein popping out of her head.