Isabella stopped right in front of them, Osiris standing half a step behind her like a silent guard.
Her gaze swept over the kneeling men slowly.
There were thirty of them. Maybe more. Their clothes were nothing but torn animal skins, stained dark with dirt and old blood. Their hair was tangled, faces hollow, eyes sunken deep into their sockets. Some were thin to the point where their ribs showed when they breathed. A few had bandages crudely wrapped around their arms and legs, already soaked through with brownish stains.
They did not look like invaders.
They looked like survivors.
Isabella's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are you kneeling?"
The man closest to her lifted his head. He was older, with rough features and graying hair tied loosely behind his neck. His hands shook as he pressed them into the dirt.
"Goddess," he said hoarsely, "we beg forgiveness for stepping into your territory without permission."
Isabella frowned. "That did not answer my question."
