Beers and Beards

Later that evening, I found myself alone in a dark corner of the [Shaman] camp, nursing a bottle of mead while the sounds of merrymaking and the roar of fires flickered through the hills. Tonight everyone was going to party like it was 7999, and yet I sat in a knot of quiet with a dimming campfire.

For now the tribes seemed more than happy to lick their wounds and celebrate their victory. The Western Alliance was fleeing over the plains with their proverbial tails between their legs, and tomorrow would decide if the remnants of the tribes would try to chase them down. Truly, today had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and it wasn’t even done yet. I could hear wailing amongst the cheers and laughter as the plainsfolk mourned those who’d died in battle.

Isen and Alba were in that mix somewhere, using their Abilities to help ease people’s burdens and help connect the dragons with their new tribes. Isen was down an arm, but pleased as punch to live to see the emancipation of his people. I was hoping to chat with him, but I could understand that he was a bit busy at the moment.

I stared at the notification that’d been calling for attention in my vision for a while, scarcely able to believe it.