A thunderclap greeted the dawn. They stood inside the mouth of a cave twenty feet wide and ten feet high. Torrential rains poured outside. It faced west, toward the enemy, so they could see the dawn only in the illumination of the woods before them.
Sarah sat cross-legged on a blanket, just far enough inside the cave to avoid the rain, her eyes closed and her cape and hair whipping in the wind. She’d sat that way for two hours as the storm rolled in.
Quinn slept next to Kulth-Ing, his arms spooning the cat, snoring softly. Kulth-Ing kicked his feet and growled low as if chasing a deer in his sleep.
Davion sat quietly with his back against the cave wall, far from Kulth-Ing, deep in thought.
Zebulun stood near the entrance, his armor on, spear in hand, and sword strapped to his side.
Davion stood and wandered over to Zebulun. He whispered, "Are you planning to fight the soldiers?"
"No," said Zebulun. "I can’t fight my brothers in arms. Not even if I disagree with what they’re doing. They don’t even know what they’re doing."
"Then why the arms and armor?"
"In case a dragon shows up," said Zebulun. "I’d fight a dragon."