Kicking satisfactorily through the ash and rubble of what had formerly been Gilling’s Grove and idly handling a broken gate post, Burilgi turned to the North.
Zealots or slavers. Zealots.... Or slavers... Hmm. Zealots. Yes, zealots - that fort on the mountain will make a fine bonfire for all to see. Let the knife-ears and the sellouts know vengeance is coming and their new empires will fall.
His musings were suddenly interrupted by return of the skulk scout from the south.
“Wood and water coming back again, boss!”
The gate post snapped as Burigi’s fists clenched, and the underling scrambled away, slipping on detritus.
Always something to do first. Tiresome.
“Foul the lake! Burn the wood! Skin anything with fur!”
Piss off, tree.