The White Order
“Why not go after them? The Red Order has been tipped for a while now,” questioned the gangly youth, standing defiantly in his designated pedograph.
Grale stamped his foot down, flapping the snow-white tails of his waistcoat. “Insolent newling!” he snarled, thick eyebrows creased. “The Red are never unaware, never off guard. They would catch you before you blink.”
Maus raised her brow. “Though I would agree, the newling does have merit.”
Shale, the newling, frowned in approval and mild surprise that someone stood up for him.
“The Red, though alert,” Maus continued, “are being foolhardy in their recent victory over the Violet Order. It is unfortunate for us that they won, but at the same time, the High Judge says laxness is fatal. Even in a small amount, the Red has relaxed beyond safety.”
Itchoua nodded. “I think we should,” he said with finality.
Grale snorted and stepped out of his pedograph, fading the light.
“The meeting of the White Order is closed,” the White Judge sighed.