November 26th, xxxx
MAJOR SANDCASTLE HAS NO love lost for traitors. He is angry, betrayed to the point that if he sees their lying betraying faces, he'll smash them with rocks. He couldn't believe it then, can't believe it now but has concluded they are not coming back.
The eight troops do not share this sentiment. They mope, whine, stare into space, keep a lookout for prodigal Shifters. At first, he let them be.
He did those things too, ask questions no one can answer but after five sluggish days, he has moved on. He'll curse them in the back of his mind but henceforth, he will not let their absconding mess with his head.
"Get up, gather around," sluggish movements, "Now!"
Scrambling to their feet, the eight Privates stand at attention, hands behind backs. He stares upon them with his best stern expression.
