Chapter 177: The White Scar
Bloodhorn Territory,
War Hall, White Mountain
Drukhan's POV
The war hall stank of goat tallow and other warriors' contempt, and I had spent the better part of an hour pretending the grease hadn't clogged my nostrils.
"A Horn Captain," Rogra said, his voice dripping with mock pity as he turned the words over for what felt like the fifth time.
"Dead. And by a woman who fights with her bare hands, no less. Tell me, Drukhan. Did you send Brak to war, or did you send him to be humiliated slowly and call it strategy?"
Laktris said nothing. The minotaur rarely did.
But his stillness had its own heavy weight, his dark eyes tracking me across the stone floor with a silence that carried more disgust than anything Rogra could have shouted.
