The suggestion hung in the humid air of the chamber like a heavy fog. Lazek stood by the balcony, his silhouette framed by the dying light of the Tigerwood sun. He had expected a simple nod of agreement, a submission to the safety of the capital after the carnage they had recently witnessed.
Kale did not move. He stood in the centre of the room, his eyes fixed on his master with an unyielding intensity. "I'm sorry, Master," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "I don't want to return to the capital just yet."
The silence that followed was not peaceful. It was a vacuum of sound that preceded a storm. Lazek did not turn around immediately, but his shoulders tensed under his grey coat. The terminal boredom that usually defined his presence was replaced by something sharp and jagged.
