Gruk's voice rose above most of them: "THE SETTLEMENT GROWS!"
The crowd took it up immediately, dozens and then hundreds of voices:
"THE SETTLEMENT GROWS!" "THE SETTLEMENT GROWS!" "THE SETTLEMENT GROWS!"
Satou stood on the platform and let it wash over him.
He hadn't anticipated this — the particular quality of this specific joy. He'd expected celebration. He hadn't expected to feel it hit him in the chest like a physical thing, the sound of a thousand people who'd bled for this settlement and lost people for this settlement and kept building afterward, finding something worth shouting about.
Vessa was at the front of the serpentfolk contingent, her gold-patterned scales cycling through rapid color shifts. Theron had both fists raised. Valka was roaring in the high orc way that shook the ground slightly. Even Harkon — the old orc who'd arrived broken and cautious — had his head up and his voice in the noise.
Kelvin was grinning so hard it looked like it hurt.
