From the shadows of the grain, three figures emerged. They were barely three feet tall, covered in sleek, tawny fur that matched the grain perfectly.
They wore intricate chest plates made of what looked like hardened beetle husks and carried spears tipped with what looked like obsidian—limestone. Their large, dark eyes were fixed on us with unnerving focus, and their long, pink tails flicked behind them like whips.
The leader, wearing a tiny cloak made of woven spider-silk, stepped forward. He looked at the rabbits, then at the troller, and finally, his gaze traveled up... and up... until he was staring at me.
I wonder. What is the use of all this get-up if they can die with a single whip of Damar's tail?
Or is it just their pride on the line?
Well, I guess they never expected big predators like us to come to their territory in the first place.
