"So," Sol growled, his dangerous smirk returning as he saw the hatred take root in their cores.
"In this war, your goal is not to die for some stupid tribal glory. I don't care about your traditional pride of standing in the dirt and taking a club to the skull just to prove your courage to the ancestors. Your only goal today is to SURVIVE.
No matter the means. If a ten-foot giant is rushing your line with a stone hammer, you don't stand there and let him crush your shield; you use your smaller frame, you drop low, you cut his leg tendons, or you run until he stumbles in the muck, and then you drive your spear through his throat from behind."
He lifted his thick finger, pointing it straight toward the northern ravines. " If a bug is too fast, you throw dirt in his eyes and run. If your spear breaks, you use your teeth. If you are outnumbered, you run.
