“The vision of his father’s swollen face as he lay beaten nearly to death, echoed in his thoughts. His father’s visage mouthed one word over and over again. “Toompa.” The events of the day had started out so well with his marvelous hunt. When he had come home to see the folly of the war his father was about to lead the tribe into, he had done what he had felt was necessary for the good of his people. His good intentions had degenerated into a huge mess. Now he was out in the wilderness, ...truly alone for the first time in his life. And he was scared. The fact that he was afraid was humiliating to the ogre who had become the strongest warrior in his tribe. He had been so sure that he was right. Joining the tribe with their bitterest enemies in a war against the smaller races didn’t make sense to him. But now he was an outcast. A rogue ogre. Fist had been brought up to despise ogres like that. An ogre was only cast out if he was bad for the tribe, and an ogre that was bad for his tribe was of no worth to anyone.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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