“They’re coming…” it wasn’t dread or fear. Just quiet resignation.
The scout stood in the space between two huge oak trees. His bow strung over his shoulder and elfin face held neutral.
“Thank you,” said Stalwart. “Report to your serjant.”
The scout nodded and vanished. As if he evaporated in the wind.
Stalwart looked up to his sister. Leaved and peddles danced through the glad in the spiralling breeze. She floated fifteen feet in the air, meditating. The smell of pure simple magic hung in the air. The confetti of foliage twirled around her as she descended.
She stepped back to the ground as easily as stepping off a chair. She blinked, “You know we can’t possibly win.”
“I know.”
“And if we lose, they will cannibalize this world and leave it a hellscape. A husk where life will never grow back.”
“I know, Elas. I know.”
“You are our king. What can we do?”
Stalward rubbed his jaw, “What can we do?”
“We can’t bleed them, a thousand more rise each moment. We can’t kill them, they are beyond mortality.”
“So are we.”
“It doesn’t matter! We are going to die!” Pain layered her voice.
Was it hopeless?
“I won’t give up. We can’t. There’s just too much to lose.”
“Then what is your plan?”
“It has acted with purpose. Its landfall shows higher planning. It has a mind and intelligence. An intelligence can be communicated with.”
“You want to talk to it?!”
Stalwart shrugged, “What else do we have to lose?”
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