The war council chamber had fallen quiet after Baron Silverfury's words. The generals, men and women who had bled on the walls of Tallowshade, looked uneasy. The baron's proposal made sense—painfully so—yet none of them were the type to simply accept gifts and grand speeches. The offer of supplies and crystals was tempting, but the price, a new alliance forged in defiance of the old, was a frightening gamble.
A wolfkin general leaned forward, his scarred muzzle curling. His eyes were hard, full of the suspicion that had kept him alive in countless battles. "Forgive me, Baron," he said with a restrained caution, "but men like us have seen enough to know nothing comes without a price. Supplies, crystals, promises of truth—why now? Why you? What do you gain from it?"
Murmurs rippled through the others. A scaled saurian general grunted agreement. "We are soldiers, not merchants. We're not used to charity. If you have a goal, speak it plain."
