Chapter 12

“Is she still there?” Bortrad squinted his eyes to discern a small cherry tree in the twilight darkness, visible from the window of Boren’s room.

“She’s praying,” Boren replied indifferently, polishing his giant black-metal sword. He lay comfortably on the pillows and blankets gathered next to the wall, forming a nest, thinking about the upcoming battle when Bortrad interrupted him by entering the room. “I ate a pigeon in front of her.” Unwillingly, he smiled slightly.

“So, she’s praying for the pigeon’s soul?” Bortrad also couldn't hold back a smile.

“Yep.”

“Elves,” he exhaled. “It would be better if she prayed to have chicken for dinner rather than a pigeon. These woods used to be full of prey, but elves shooed it all away. Soldiers need meat.”

“They’ll be fine.” Boren carefully slid his fingers over the blade to see if it needed fresh sharpening. “We have bigger concerns to worry about.”