We Don't Belong Here

I gave up trying to figure out how I felt about that and lay down next to him.

"Look at the grim aftermath of battle," Fael remarked.

Opal tells me I dozed off too, and I can't argue. The drum's call to form a defensive line woke me. I surveyed the battlefield, noticing changes. Our flags were on a new hill, and I could see distant fighting to the right. They seemed to be attacking our flank.

(Actually, they weren't; it was a diversion for an envelopment that never happened, but I learned that later.) I asked Opal, who'd been quiet since our charge, if he was okay.

"Boss, we don't belong here."

"I know. What's your point?"

"We should leave."

"Can't do it."

"Why not?"

"I've committed to a job."

"Do you see a way to do it?"

"Not now, but—" I asked Fael aloud, "Where do you think their command center is?"