The great room is silent, dead bodies of cultists, Dragonclaws and Dragonwings litter the floor, the floor coated with blood. Whisper’s eyes are on Luther as she finishes her gruesome task of killing the sleeping cultists. Is she scowling?
Luther stares back, breathing heavily, also covered in blood from his sword and up his arm. Is that rage in his eyes?
Foluwa; the spirit of the bear still possessing him remained calm, still in the form of a bear, blood also dripping from his claws.
Arobyn cleans his blades quickly and runs to the door that faces the courtyard: “I hear yelling and a weapons clanging outside, the wizard must have sought help!” he says.
The bear growls