Seeing Clay slam the unconscious body of his son, Bufolk, the Warchief's voice exploded from the other side of the dimensional crack, no longer carrying any restraint, no longer holding onto any semblance of composure that a leader should have. It was no longer the voice of a Warchief speaking to an enemy. It was the voice of a father whose heart had been crushed again and again in the span of a few breaths.
"I agreed to your request! I agreed to your request! I, the Warchief of the Bersuka Tribe, have already spoken the oath! We will leave your lands! We will not take a single life from your kingdom! Why… why are you still hurting my son!?"
His voice cracked in the middle, but he did not stop. He could not stop. Rage and grief twisted together, turning his words into something that sounded more like a howl than speech.
