Barbod looked at the fallen Falcon soldiers, and then to the Lone Falcon. He opened his mouth to speak, but a flash of shadow caught his attention in the window. Barbod sprang to the door, and looked down the old street, but saw nothing. He whipped his head around, turning the other direction, and again saw nothing. A shiver went down his spine, and a cold sweat trickled down his forhead. He knew what the shadow was. Barbod stroad back into the pub, and made his way to the counter, which he then stepped onto, addressing his comrads.
"Someone saw this attack on the Falcons." Barbod swallowed hard, "Someone who will pose a great thret to us. My fellow Bulls may know of him, and mabie some Falcons aswell." Barbod paused for a moment, cleared his throat, then contenued, "Faolin the Assassin. His only perpose, for the time, is to dispose of me. If he were a normal assassin, he would have stroad into this pub and done so. No. He is smart. He has gone to the Falcon king. He will return with an army." Barbod stopped again. Public speaking was one thing he had never been trained for. "He knows our size, and I assume he will bring at least twice as many in arms." Barbod hopped off the counter, and picked up his spear, from where it lay on the counter.
"Men," Barbod said, "Prepare for the fight of your lives."
He smiled.