HIS FATE

Draven stood shackled, the iron cuffs rubbing at his wrists, but his back was straight, his head unbowed. His amber eyes burned steadily, watching each elder who dared to discuss his fate.

Liora, trembling but resolute, crouched nearby, eyes swollen from crying, lips pressed together as though biting off another scream.

She did once reach out, fingers brushing the hem of Draven's torn tunic, as if she needed the reassurance of his presence.

The elders spoke among themselves ...