Chapter Twenty-Eight
Searon stepped outside, feeling the brisk wind brush across his scruffy face. It felt like he hadn’t shaved in weeks, although it had only been a few days. He let out a heavy sigh, brushing his thick brown hair away from his eyes. Kheshlars scurried in the streets in every direction, cleaning the disaster left behind from the battle. Some gathered the fallen to provide ceremonies for them later in the night.
Searon eagerly fought his way through the crowd toward the kheshlarn infirmary. Normally, the tree was empty, except for the time when Searon had been injured. Kheshlars were seldom in battles. They never got sick either, so there hadn’t been much use for the infirmary other than a beautifully crafted building. It almost seemed the trees would grow to accommodate
