Trumpets blew and praises erupted as Keshin's litter was paraded down the streets, and Keshin himself upon a mighty elephant, dressed like a king, his with an eagle perched on his shoulder, and a crown on his head.
Still, Narniff observed from the emptied saloon. "I have to do something. I can't sleep while he intimidates us with his litter, and marches up and down our streets, without our consent. And worst of all, our mighty emperor— our fearsome emperor— our karor, stands idly by, and allows them free reign over our town like Karor Bard of Jarrut-nai—"
Narniff drew his blades. "I should plead my case to our karor, he may be merciful enough to plead my case, so that the emperor may grant me a coup d'etat to fight off Man's Grudge."
Swift thirstroaches gathered hurryingly into the dank, empty corner of the saloon instead of the refreshing vodrah fountain , quaffle, and whiffey bottles stowed in the bar table cabinet. Greenberry lizards cried fearful wails— watchers yelled disgusting profanities, hurled stones and trumpets sounded away obnoxiously. Ghastly hunters marched through the narrow roads, past angered folk.
Keshin halted the parade abruptly and shouted, "Demoralization of our challengers requires a prompt demonstration. Absolute corruption will be demolished." Hulking canines, drenched in oil, crawled through the street. "We will execute these wolves as a symbol of control, and our enemies will be dispirited, and the execution of wolves will be our sign of power.
"Hunters— steady your rifles— fire on my command. Soon, these pitiless canines will be put out of their misery, and will act as my slaves no longer, rather, they serve their natural purpose in Heaven— as God's beloved, and he will tame and domesticate them." Keshin gestured the hunters. "Our brash hunters' axes will behead them— or we deface our legacy, our honor, and our people. My ancestor were hunters, and their ancestors were hunters, and we follow in their footsteps— our image lives."
The Sun arose dew from the grass patches lining the roads, and sweat from the hunters' brows. They were finely built, standing tall like pine trees, but sweat tremendously. As the hunters angled towards them their axes, ready to strike down and collect the remains, a seething growling stuttering from the hunters' grins.
From the cluttered alleyways behind the rough concrete shelters and shambly bamboo huts, the hunters were met with a fuming roar. Then another wolf, painted in autumn colors emerged, whose tribe named him Ujare. Then another wolf, whose fur was painted in winter colors, emerged, whose tribe named her H'nele. Ujare said, "Let
me make a suggestion— if you're not here to pet them, it's best you let them go."
Then another wolf, whose fur was painted charcoal, whose name Keshin was far too familiar with, lurked cloaked, and dimly illuminated— Keshin could barely make out her determined expression.
"There won't be a tomorrow if you kill them." H'nele conjured up a dastardly spell, Eldritch symbols vomited from nothing. "Runes and eldritch outmatches brute force."