Foster stood on one of the great roots of the World Tree, watching the city slowly rebuild itself in the fading light of day. Vollua was a shadow of its former self, scarred by war and destruction, but it held firm.
Around him, the surviving elves were busy. Some were repairing damaged dwellings, others were reinforcing the plant defences of the protective dome. But one question remained unanswered: resources.
There were barely thirty survivors, and despite their mastery of magic and nature, they couldn't sustain themselves forever on the meagre provisions they had left.
- In a week's time, we'll have nothing left,' Foster murmured to himself.
He took a deep breath, shaking off the fatigue that weighed on his shoulders. He too had his limits.
- Find out what you can,' he finally told the six elves gathered in front of him. Don't take unnecessary risks. Hunt and gather what nature has to offer. The dome won't protect us from hunger.