“We are away from our children because of this very thing. Our daughter and the boys have been threatened many times in just these recent days. Our farmhouse is damaged because of these foul creatures. We buried one of them behind our barn after it attempted to slaughter my family! Why don’t they fix their own problems?” It was difficult to determine if Johann’s face was flushed red from only the fiery sunset’s glow.
Peter nodded slowly. “Yes, Johann. We understand. Our house was destroyed entirely. Most of the roof is gone. The floor has either been crushed in by the gargoyles’ weight or ripped up by Nahgflint. For all we know, it’s burned to the ground by now.”
Taking a deep breath, he continued. “So, we do understand the desire to tell them all to leave us out of this fight.” Peter grabbed a fistful of pine needles, grimacing as he squeezed them hard. He opened his hand, palm down. While most of the needles fell back to the floor, many were sticking out of his hand like it was a porcupine. “The problem is this,” gesturing at his wounded palm. “Now it’s our fight, too. We may not have asked for it. We’d rather be left out of it. But we’re stuck with it now, like these needles in my hand.”
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