A distant memory surfaced in his mind, which was so vivid and vital to him because it was the first night his mother agreed to train him.
The memory was of his mother, her beautiful face radiant as she sat her young son on her lap, they were looking at images on her datapad, and the moment orcs were shown, the young Raven pointed to them.
"Ah, Gwanfather! Gwandma!"
His words caused a sudden jolt in the body of Mor'Grana as she looked at her son, realising something that she forgot to teach him; it was something like breathing to her, so how could she remember it off the top of her head?
"No... Alistair..."
"No?" He asked, tilting his head.
"These are not good orcs."
Her words might have been simplified, but how could she expect her son to understand the difference between the dungeon orcs and the ones that greeted them each morning down the road, offering their oranges and fruits to the cute Alistair?
