LERRIN
It was night. Despite the extra lamp that Suhle had found and installed, the white walls of Lerrin's tent looked gray because of the darkness pressing in behind them. Usually, when he wasn't at war, this was his favorite time of day—or night, as the case may be. When the darkness had descended and the air had cooled, but before weariness took over.
At least, that's how he'd felt at this time of day before he went to war.
Lerrin held himself strong and scanned the men of the council who sat in the circle in his tent again. While things between them had mostly calmed, there had been more and more disruption among the people in the encampment. Reports of fighting between fists, and the first question of a group of males possibly mistreating a female had reached his ears that morning, though not through these men.
