The voice was initially very faint, obscured by the shouting of the crowd. However, it carried an undeniable weight, like the snap of an eggshell breaking, the subtle sound of a bud bursting free from its calyx. The tiny yet firm voice, once heard by healthy ears, would elicit a reaction, so they quietened down, turned their heads, and all their widened pupils looked this way. As other noises died away, that sound, like something breaking free of its shell, began to swell, booming like a thunderstorm, pouring down heavily in the heart of the Dream Elf.
Doludo slowly retreated, moving away from the source of the disturbance, his expression grave and his pace slow as though afraid of disturbing something. The exhausted Berserker was not fleeing; a newfound vitality filled his chest. He withdrew only to near his shield-bearing brother, to take a suitable weapon from Charles and prepare to pounce again with the ferocity of a beast.
