#reneth

Everyone fell silent, as one tends to when the subject of whom you were speaking of shows up to the discussion. Several awkward moments passed, before Valen broke the tension with a sharp whistle.

“You’re pretty buff, dude.” A soft chuckle ran through most of the group, if only to ward away silence.

“Speaking of which! Actually, not the same topic. How old are you?”

Kien blinked at the question, pursing his lips. Was that important? Did it reveal his identity? ...Probably not. Frankly, if they’d known of him, they’d have already guessed his identity, given the color of his eyes.

“Nineteen.”

Valen was… anything but subtle with his victory, and his triumphant woot! and fist bump revealed that to Kien, who just took it with a confused smile. Given the Prince’s observant nature (now that he wasn’t so completely distracted with fear), the quiet exchanging of coins from hand to hand wasn’t missed by him, and he raised an eyebrow at the group as a whole.

Still, though, despite the overall jovial mood, the General seemed rather bothered by Kien’s statement, and watched him for a long moment, frowning to himself. Before Kien could ask about it, though, the older elf had turned away.

“Would you like to come sit with us? They’re all hooligans, but we have drinks.” Mora’s offer was quiet-- she wasn’t nearly as loud as the others, but even without wearing the same grin most of them did, she was still politely friendly. Reneth was another story-- the hulking figure was practically scowling, now that Kien had joined the group. Gone was the tenderness he’d displayed towards Leon-- no, this elf was completely suspicious, if not downright hostile now.

“Sure. Thank you.” Kien wasn’t planning to drink-- he didn’t like how his senses were impared, and his injury left enough up in the wind should a surprise fight occur he did not need the additional barrier. And this was a war, he had to remember. Fights should be expected, as far as he knew.

Still, he joined them, taking a seat cross-legged on the ground around a low fire. The team was loud (most of the volume coming from Valen), but the atmosphere was overall quite pleasent. Kien said little, preferring to get a feel for the various soldiers he’d be fighting with. Of them, Valen talked the most, cracking jokes-- some clever, some crude-- and telling stories of his life outside of the war, the majority of which were about his wife back home. Leon and Reneth spent most of the time sitting close enough to touch, exchanging looks that made it quite clear they had a thing for each other. Mora’s inputs were usually startlingly witty, or calling Valen out on something stupid. The General, however, said very little, keeping his attention on Kien. Watching him. It was understandable-- he wished to keep his team safe, but Kien couldn’t help but feel a bit on edge. He had a secret to keep, and couldn’t have anyone learning it. Worse, he had no idea what the General would pick on, what tiny habits might clue him in. He’d have to think about every move before making it. Every gesture, every word, every step. Nothing could clue anyone in to his role as the Crown Prince, not if he wished to avoid his Father’s wrath. Assuming he survived this. Despite his worries, though, he found himself having a genuinely good time, and it seemed everyone else was enjoying themselves as well.

Until the flock of birds flew overhead, anyway. At the first rough squack, everyone, without fail, froze. Confusion flickered across Kien’s face, and he opened his mouth to express it, but a calloused hand clamped over his mouth. The General’s. A shutter wracked through Kien’s shoulders at the restrictive contact, but he too went still.

Mora tossed a bucket of water over the fire, letting the steam hiss up into the darkened sky, her eyes locked on the flock. Silence reigned for several seconds, until the birds had passed fully by. Only then did the General explain.

“This war is against the Shifters,” he hissed, tone still hushed. “They can assume any animal’s shape-- you can’t trust anything. They can usually be signaled apart from the natural-”

A crow’s croak cut him off. The sound was low, heavy, and stretched far longer than it should as it morphed into a scream, and the first of the birds dove. The rest followed in short succession, looping back and raining down upon the camp.

Before they hit the ground, each bird had assumed humanoid shapes-- lanky and graceful, with sharp-toothed smiles bared and long ears that angled downwards.

A single arrow split the air before the Shifters advanced as one, its singing filling all of the elves’ ears. Each of them knew the Lady Death’s tune all too well. Still, though, they rose, crouching to meet the advancing attack.