Chapter 12
Nighttime had settled on the vermin camp. The sentries kept a weary watch while most of the horde lay on the cold ground, drooling, snoring, and scratching. It was the kind of false peacefulness one could be sure of among vermin.
A conspiracy was afoot. A rat and a weasel slunk about in the shadows, unseen, headed for the tent of the hated captain Durg. This was the night. " 'Ere it is," Longtooth whispered, " 'tis now or never." They could hear Durg snoring inside his tent, and there were no guards around.
"Lead th' way, captain," Knobear whispered back, fingering his cutlass. The plan was very simple. Durg was finished. Quietly a flap was cut into the back of the tent and they crept in, weapons drawn. The tent was quiet and empty, but for the sleeping form of Durg on the ground. Longtooth turned.
"Alright mate, 'e's all ours. Cover me," he whispered. He heard no reply. "Knobear? Mate?" he called, looking out the back flap. A claw grabbed his neck, lifting him off the ground. His sword was wrenched from his paws and he found himself staring into the face of Skarliff Krigg.
"Gutless scum," the Warlord snarled, "this was your worst and final mistake. You see, I deal with traitors swiftly and surely in my horde. You should know that. Well done, Knobear."
Longtooth was dragged off roughly. He gulped hard as a single tear ran down his cheek. It hadn't been much of a life anyway; now at least he could be free.