Thauren let out a massive, booming laugh that shook the surrounding brush, his heavy hand coming down to smash against his thigh armor with a loud crack.
"By the blood of the first lion... you truly are a monster, Sol! They'll be caught with their pants down and their bellies empty. I can already hear the chieftains howling from here!"
"The dawn strike is approved," Warchief Veylara declared, her eyes burning with an absolute, terrifyingly cold finality.
"Okay, the dawn timing is settled then," Thauren said, rubbing his massive chin as he stared down at the mud where Sol had drawn the nine circles. "But we have two distinct pests sitting in that valley. The Zerith stalkers have their nests crawled into the northern swamp edges, and the Gray Marauders have their spiked hide-tents pinned to the dry southern ridges. Which ones do we hit first to start the wheel?"
