The further south their great procession had traveled, the more things had changed. Some of that was purely geographical, of course. They'd left the mountains and the great pine forests long behind them, trading them in for fields and rivers made mighty by the runoff from the mountains that only stopped when the weather turned water to ice. They
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The sword was a good weapon when there wasn't anything else at hand. His sticks, on the other hand, were practically an extension of himself. He could kill, with a sword. That was fine enough. It was all he was really required to do. But if a sword was efficient, his sticks were art. Lucivar had trained him well.
*Feyta needs to know that there are still men in this room that mean to do her harm,* he thought in Karla and Morton's direction as he sheathed his blades at his hips.
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As it was, she was watching her people tie up her sister with tears glimmering in her eyes. Even so, she did glance over at the men who were not moving and her eyes lingered over each of their faces in turn.
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*I think she and her males can handle it, then,* he noted, and then looked at one of Fetya's, tentatively reaching his bloodied hand out to get his attention. The man tensed a little, looking up at Warren not with contempt, but with the memory of him cutting down his companions fresh in his mind. Warren only offered him a half-smile, raising his other hand as well, showing the man that he wasn't going to reach for his sticks. "I need you to tell me about the males that are coming after our army ( ... )
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He paused, dwelling on that for a moment, before looking between Karla and Fetya.
"Though, if we want to avoid any more loss of life than necessary, we're going to want to get word out to both of our armies that they really don't want to be killing one another right now."
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