dawn, and with it

Delah

The games of luck our soldiers played
The stones we cut, the songs we made

It happens as the baker thinks. Whispers are transferred from leaf to thrush and soon the war chief appears. There is no humour in her moss stare, only mockery as she arrives seemingly alone.

"I am not surprised you are the first to break the rules, Amalia." The Guardian says dryly. Crossing her arms she raises her chin if only slightly, for Amalia is indeed a great deal taller than she. "Shall I save everyone the trouble and simply have my warriors kill you?"