Emberfang's high officer, General Var'Zhul, sat slumped in his stone chair. His clawed fingers dug into his hair, yanking strands out as frustration and anxiety gnawed at his nerves.
"Where is that damn runner?!"
He had sent the swiftest team out hours ago, a trusted group of soldiers riding the fastest mounts who should have returned by now. Wartorn was not that far.
If his hunch was true—if those mongrels had truly invaded—it meant Emberfang was next. He had been screaming at the fools in charge of the outer defenses for days, yet there were not enough warriors to man the walls properly against a giant army. Tens of thousands of trained dogkin warriors would not be stopped by Emberfang's current forces. If the battle-hardened veterans of Wartorn had crumbled, then what hope did they have after being ordered to send large numbers to reinforce the north?
His claws dug deeper into his scalp while he breathed raggedly, unevenly.
"Think. Think!"
