Dawnlark Plains η

the filth's wife spoke. iosef listened with turned ears, a sneer permanent upon his face. she spoke with conviction, speaking of the opportunity for a truce. a neutrality. but the soldier was not fond of the idea of these wolves walking amongst darukaal's lands. they did not need their pelts, their medicines, their fucking commodities. they were self-sufficient, as they should be. 

peace was a farse. it was a thin veil placed over the eyes of sheep. it was obvious, the tension between faust and the filthy man. that tension would last longer than this fucking peace treaty. it was all so fishy, so convenient...

and yet, his baskaan looked to him. a silent conversation. a declaration for him to be at ease. no blood would be spilled here. he snorts, his displeasure evident in the way he rasps a curse. "ты знаешь, что это чертова ложь, брат." but, he would obey. with a roll of squared shoulders, he stands tall, his weapon haltered. for now.

if the filth was being deceitful, it did not matter. he would fall as quick as he came.