The night had barely passed when the first rays of dawn stretched over the village, casting a warm glow that did little to ease the tension left from the previous night's attack. The villagers had survived, but the air was thick with an underlying sense of dread. Everyone knew the undead were just a glimpse of the darkness that lay ahead.
James stood in the center of the village, watching as the refugees from Asrain mingled with his people. There was unease on both sides. The refugees, though grateful for sanctuary, seemed uncomfortable around the non-human residents of the village, particularly the bakarti elves and the handful of beastfolk who had settled there. Divisions were beginning to form, and James could feel the tension growing.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The village was holding together, but only just. He had to find a way to maintain unity, especially with the looming threat of the undead spreading south.
