“Are you ready?” Old Master asked. He leaned against the wall of the cave, cleaning his fingernails with the obsidian blade of a dagger.
“My women are fine warriors. We spent a long time raising a generation of the best fighters in the world,” Shanka said. She stood at the mouth of the valley and gazed down at the place Rastaban had called home for most of his life. Her scouts were out now, confirming that the men were asleep in their villages like the boring farmers they had become.
“You did all the work, not me,” Old Master said.
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