"Good, good, good…" General Jorund repeated the word three times, his face darkening with fury. It sounded less like praise and more like a prelude to violence.
'Good, my ass', Ethan thought, biting back the urge to say it out loud.
Before he could open his mouth, Jorund barked, "Since you're here, then let's fight! Throwers, prepare!"
Ethan froze. 'Wait, are we really starting a war right now?'
"Hold on!" he shouted quickly. Lyla and Astrid were still in their hands. Jorund clearly wasn't the type to talk things out—if he couldn't win an argument, he'd rather settle it with fists.
Ethan's shout immediately drew the attention of the entire opposing force.
"Father, that's the one who hit me!"
The cry came from multiple directions at once—some yelling for their mother, others for their uncle or grandfather. Each voice belonged to one of the sea tribes' younger warriors.
