"Oh…" the guard grunted, digging into a pouch on his belt before pulling out a folded slip of paper, it didn't even look clean!
"I'll need you to sign here. The tournament for ownership of the town will soon be starting."
"Eh?" Azel blinked, staring at the paper like it had personally offended him. "You're kidding, right? Since when do werewolves and paperwork fit in the same sentence?"
The guard didn't even flinch.
"You'll still have to fight," he said matter-of-factly. "That's why it's called a tournament. The winner takes control of Lycas. Just make sure our former leader doesn't win again."
He clapped a huge, clawed hand on Azel's shoulder.
The weight of it was enough to make his boots sink slightly into the dirt. "Sign the paper if you're interested in it."
Azel looked down at the paper, then over at Ravik, who simply shrugged as if to say, 'It's your problem, my lord.'
"Fine." Azel sighed, taking the pen and scribbling his name across the bottom.
