Awaiting Whisperland: The Calling of Galahad Green

Dawn caught the darkness unaware, the sun springing from behind the mountains like a rabid cat to devour the moon's sliver. During the course of the night the temperature about Heartbreak Ridge had risen to exceed a hundred degrees. Below its western rim the massive wilderness of Whisperland was hotter still. To the south, the animals of New Eden had amassed sixty-some-odd deep and over a kilometer wide. Across from them, the gladiators of the Fleshstalkers and the Rebel Skys loomed as a formidable challenge. In the backdrop, Warbird posed his bloodshot eyes to a trio of figures at the fall line of the plateau-the great roan stallion and his riders, the human trash who dared interfere with the inevitable outcome of the epic battle. Galahad felt certain he was on the threshold of an epiphany, just as he knew that nothing short of one would save the kingdom.