No, they didn't. As Boarstaff continued his rounds, checking on the morning's progress, settling the small disputes that arose in any community, he carried with him the image of Sebastian alone in those eastern caves. Isolated by necessity, protected by distance, but cut off from the very connections his transformation seemed to be awakening in him.
The village hummed with life around Boarstaff, conversations and laughter, the ring of hammers on metal, children's voices raised in play. All the sounds of belonging, of being part of something larger than oneself.
Did Sebastian hear these sounds carried on the wind? Did he understand what they represented, or had centuries of vampire conditioning made such connections incomprehensible?
As the sun climbed higher and the morning's bread emerged from the ovens, golden and fragrant, Boarstaff found himself wondering if community was something Sebastian had ever experienced, or if isolation was all he'd ever known.
Either way, it seemed a lonely existence for someone learning to be more than his father's manipulations had intended. From everything Boarstaff had seen of vampire culture, they weren’t overly communal, at least not in the way orcs were.
The morning training session provided no relief from Boarstaff's restless thoughts. He worked through sword forms with precision that would have impressed Sebastian's father, but his heart wasn't in the familiar movements. Around him, warriors practiced in pairs, their grunts of effort and the clash of weapons creating the soundtrack of preparedness that had defined orc society for generations.
"Your mind's elsewhere, Warchief." Thornmaker blocked a half-hearted strike with ease. "The eastern boundary again?"
Boarstaff stepped back, lowering his blade. Around them, other warriors continued their training, but he could feel their attention shifting toward the conversation. News traveled fast in a village this size, and everyone knew about the night's events.
"I'm thinking about security," Boarstaff replied, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"Of course." Thornmaker's tone remained respectful, but there was an edge underneath. "Though I notice you've been thinking about eastern security more than any other direction lately."
The observation was pointed but not quite insubordinate. Around them, conversations quieted as warriors strained to listen while maintaining the pretense of training. The sounds of strikes weren’t as loud as normal, showing how distracted all the warriors were by their conversation.
"The restrictions are necessary," Boarstaff said carefully, "but they limit our intelligence gathering."
"They limit something," Thornmaker agreed, his scarred face impassive. "Question is whether that's intelligence or... other concerns."
Heat rose in Boarstaff's face. Thornmaker was walking a careful line, expressing his doubts without directly challenging authority.
"If Sarah has another nightmare," Boarstaff said, deflecting, "if she calls for him again, what do we do?"
"We comfort her ourselves," Thornmaker replied firmly, his grip tightening on his spear until his knuckles whitened. "The way we've comforted traumatized children for centuries. With respect, Warchief, one child's nightmares don't outweigh the security of every family here."
The words were true, but they didn’t do anything to change Boarstaff’s mind. "And if our comfort isn't enough?"
Thornmaker's grip tightened further on his spear, but his voice remained measured. "Then we find a way to make it enough. I know what vampire sympathy costs. I've paid that price." The brief flash of pain across his features spoke of his daughters, lost to vampire raids years earlier. "We don't compromise agreements that keep us all safe."
The criticism was clear but couched in proper deference. Still, Boarstaff could see the frustration beneath Thornmaker's controlled exterior… the anger of a warrior who believed his warchief was making dangerous mistakes.
"He could have hurt her," Boarstaff said quietly. "Last night, he chose not to."
"Once," Thornmaker countered. "Vampires are creatures of calculation. One correct choice doesn't guarantee future behavior."
"His nature is changing—"
"Is it?" Thornmaker's voice remained level, but his eyes held fire. "Or are we seeing what we want to see? Brass warming under touch doesn't mean transformation, Warchief. It might just mean his father's improvements continue to fail."
The words carried weight because they came without open disrespect, making them harder to dismiss. Around them, warriors had slowed their training, clearly listening.
"You think I'm compromised," Boarstaff said.
Thornmaker hesitated, clearly weighing his words. "I think you're... invested in believing he can change. I understand why. But investment can affect judgment."
It was as close to a direct challenge as Thornmaker could make without crossing lines. The careful phrasing showed respect for rank while making his concerns unmistakably clear.
The conversation had drawn the attention of every warrior in the yard. Weapons lowered as they waited to see how their warchief would respond to such pointed criticism.
"He could have hurt her," Boarstaff said finally. "Last night, when he carried her from her bed, he could have done anything. Instead, he comforted her."
"Once," Thornmaker replied. "He chose correctly once. That doesn't guarantee future behavior."
