Clomps from Rafire's bright large feet was the alert the guards needed to hear to stand at attention and welcome their leader. Beastkin of various kinds stood, some feline, some porcine, some large like bears, some an amalgam of various beastkin–a mixed breed, and even some that had a look of the sea–like they would breathe out a salty mist if one moved close to them.
The soldiers of both genders though largely men, received their leader with the most respect they could show in that moment: Avoiding his gaze and remaining silent.
It was lunchtime, and the majority of them were in the lunchroom–a large hall with weakening tables and seats, some different stains made permanent on the ground, the walls, and some of the tables and benches.
Rafire could smell the soldiers, their poignant odor of sweat, grime and spicy foods. It also made him retch, but he sufficed with showing a visible annoyance on his face.
