A War Camp

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He waited near the edge of the trees. Invisible. Between the shadows. 

Watching. Listening. 

A young boy trudged up the path to the training ground, his black leathers flopping against his thin shoulders. His hair was the colour of the darkest night - the same as the other two hundred and thirty-five Illyrians at the camp. 

Perhaps ten. Maybe twelve. But no older.

He had to decide. For the young boy. For the rest of the children in Prythian. 

Az shifted in the shadow, unease settling over him. 

He watched the boy climb up the small wooden steps to the combat ring. Jay stood in the middle, barking orders at the two in the ring. A boy and a girl. 

Again, no more than twelve. 

His shadows flickered at his discomfort. Whispered thoughts danced through his mind.

Azriel hissed. 

The boy on the  wooden steps suddenly halted - as if hesitating . 

And Azriel froze as the black-haired young Illyrian turned and looked at him right in the eyes. 

...

Another quick one! Thanks for the read <3

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