"Did I?" Adam tilted his head, the beginning of an understanding forming in his mind. "Or is it you lot, with your green skins, that have a problem? I felt it, you know—the unnaturalness of your 'evolved' forms. I just picked the 'natural' one."
A heavy silence strangled the war council. The warriors narrowed their eyes at Adam, glaring and clenching their fists as if his words had sliced their chests. Shamans lowered their heads, letting out exhales that made Adam think they knew more than the warriors and had resigned themselves to whatever issue they faced.
Grum'Thal tucked his fingers around his chin, his elbows planted on the armrests of his throne. He leaned forward, his red eyes igniting in the darkness of his hood.
"The natural one... that is precise terminology." His voice was heavy with reluctant acknowledgement. "Have you heard about Grash'Thul?"
