The settlement council met in what used to be Silas's war room, the same table where the slaver had planned raids now covered with supply manifests and construction schedules.
Three weeks had passed since the Kane fight, and Luthra's body had mostly healed, though his ribs still ached when he moved too quickly. The enchanted bandages had done their work, but some damage took time to mend regardless of how much magic you threw at it. He'd learned that lesson the hard way during his first week of recovery, when he'd tried to resume training and promptly collapsed from the strain.
Misha spread papers across the table, her organizational skills on full display. "Population is now at five hundred and twelve, new arrivals are slowing but still steady, we're running out of housing faster than we can build it."
"How many arrived this week?"
