The training fields were louder than I expected for a culture that regularly speaks in forest whispers and myth-glances.
To be fair, that was probably our fault.
Relay had turned a logistics loop into an obstacle course. Flick had stolen a baton and was now hiding inside a signal drum. Glare was "practicing patience" by lying face-down in a decorative pond.
Cinders was running a one-kobold cooking war from the corner of the practice yard.
Tinker was arguing with an elven blacksmith about the correct number of limbs a golem should have.
I'd left them alone for maybe half a day. This is what I got.
One of the elven flame coordinators stepped delicately around a fleeing squirrel and gave me a polite smile. "Your companions are… industrious."
"That's what we call it too," I said.
