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The Warrior's Spirit (Chpt 2)

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The vermin collapsed to the ground after running for a day and a night. Largut dropped heavily in a heap on the grass. He lay there with what was left with his gang, gulping in mouthfuls of air. Straining himself into a sitting position, he stared at what was left of his group. It wasn’t much: two weasels, a stoat, and himself. He was seething so with rage, the sweat from his brow practically boiling into steam .

“We’re goin’ back to that river dog’s camp,” he finally decided. This idea, however, was met with trepidation.

“That’s crazy, chief!”

“You ‘eard their boss, boss!”

“Yeah, Dark Forest knows what they’ll do ta’ us if we go back there!”

Despite his fatigue, Largut began lambasting those that objected.

“When did any o’ ya say you was chief? Eh?! Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nobeast treats Largut that way. Nobeast! We’re gonna make that waterdog swim in his own blood when we’re done!”

“Boldly spoken, mah friend,” a voice called out in a thick northern brogue. Out from the foliage stepped out what looked like a completely white stoat. He was a uniformed terror. He was garbed in a chain-mail shirt that covered a red short-sleeve tunic. Around his waist was a brown leather belt, adorned with brass. Hanging from the belt, was a short sword with a bone handle made from one of his victims. Usually, Largut would have tried to take the stranger, but he had exhausted himself even more from condemning his lackeys.

“W-w-where’d you come from?” he said, stumbling over his words. Making himself comfortable on the ground, the albino began his story.

“Weel now, mah bairn. Ah’ve ben lookin’ around for some troops. Ah personally like the way ya’ put thengs. Ah’m recrootin’ ya an’ yoor mates there. Soond gud ta ya?”

“An’ wha makes you think I’m in’erested in joinin’ you, flour face?” Drawing his sword from it’s scabbard, the ermine twirled it above his head. In a trice, the exhausted group was surrounded by a score of white foxes and other ermine. With that, the ermine brought his blade under Largut’s jaw line, opening the old javelin wound.

“Feel like joinin’ neuw, boyo?”

Hesitantly, Largut agreed. Not having the chance to catch their breath, Largut and his crew were mercilessly marched north by the ermine and his scouting party. A day or two to the north, a great mass waited, patiently bloodthirsty.

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