Coming around, Vorland stares up at Belial.
‘It’s OK Vorland. You’re OK.’
Azazel whispers to them (despite being several hundred feet away from the Denim recruits and behind cover). ‘What are we going to do? They’re just standing there… With bows!’
‘I know!’ barks back Belial. ‘Cowardly bastards have retreated to the far corner!’
Vorland props himself up onto his elbows. ‘We can’t stay here though… That is, unless we want to call the draw?’