For fifteen generations, men had cleared, tilled and planted these lands. They’d built homes and they’d built lives here on the furthest edges of the Fringe.
Today, they would defend those homes to the last drop of their blood. As the mist rolled in over the low hills to the east; swords cleared sheathes, axes were unlimbered and the straps of armor were checked and tightened.
They were a hearty people much accustomed to hardship and travail. If the Fae King would have these lands from them, he would pay dearly for every inch of it. This they had vowed.