From the darkness, three new silhouettes emerged. Their light armor gleamed with faded runes, and their gait was that of someone who didn't need to hurry—sure indicators of their superiority. Each carried a bow, but they didn't hold it at the ready. They didn't need it. Their confidence in dominating the scene was enough.
A dees, with silver hair braided to his waist, glowed icily.
"Proud," he said in Elvish, looking Ester up and down. "You use the language of our people, but you speak as if you have the right to demand something."
The second moved a step, his amber eyes glittering.
"You stepped on our lands. Humans died as they should die: weak, without honor. And now..." he adjusted his chin, pointing his bow toward Ester, "if you don't kneel and beg for forgiveness, you'll be next."
