The Runner's body trembled from head to toe, its child-like face contorting into a snarl no less fierce than Morne's as a deep unwillingness and fiery anger rose up within it.
Who was this man, to dare to frighten the Mycontae's chosen? Who was he, to make the Runner quiver so? Who was he, to yell and rage at the natural course of things?
The Mycontae's victory was assured. The elves' defeat was only a matter of time. No amount of childish tantrums or pathetic cries would stop the wave of death that would soon embrace the elves.
Who was this man, to defy them?
No one.
Rearing up on its back legs, its lips pulled back as it bared its teeth in a hissing snarl. In that moment, it looked less like a mutated freak and more like an emaciated, tall goblin, a reminder of its origins.
