A corrupt King sits the throne. The last generation of heroes have gone extinct. The lands are as green and as promising as they ever were. The Gods watch with interest and they wait. As next the next uprising comes from the most unlikely of places. A slow burn novel.
"Please be quiet, my Lord," Lasha said, as she went to stand in front of the roaring fire. She turned her back to it, and let its heat run up her spine. Her normally reserved expression was replaced by one of pure bliss.
"What have you done to my retainer?" Oliver asked Nila, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
She pulled an eyebrow at him, and hefted the bow off her shoulder to lean it up against the wall. "You suppose that I've done something?" She said. She grabbed the other rabbit out of Blackthorn's loose fingers, and put them on the table beside Oliver.
"Are you a cat?" Oliver asked her. "You certainly make no problems leaving your kills lying around the house."
"Oh? Are you not grateful? Lasha and I put in a good amount of work hunting these for you," Nila said.
"But you've just declared that Lasha was next to useless," Oliver said.
"I did not even come close to saying such a thing," Nila said. "You assumed that yourself."