Old man

‘Four years ago, we were beaten,’ began the old man as he addressed the crowd before him, ‘our homes were lost, our wives stolen, our children’s heads thrown at the walls as they came crashing down.
‘Now we are a notable force: one that simply cannot be ignored. We began with a number of five men; now we are in the hundreds! People in the Breelands, in the lands to the South, the North... we are a people.’

‘They are lost and leaderless,’ began the old man in a serious yet quiet tone, ‘their lands have been torn asunder by the passing of time.’

‘You tell me this,’ Thistlemead spat, ‘when I care very little? Should every single one of them starve, it would not affect me.’

‘This has come from him?’ asked the old man as he rose, his greying hairs light and flowing, ‘you are certain?’