Dalagh growls and is joined by several of the others.
“And a Zzlo?” I ask.
“That I am certain of,” Mohlad says.
The low growling fills the room as almost everyone adds their own anger. I frown, shaking my head.
“If they are that close,” I say.
“We have to move the humans,” Borysk says. “They are not safe. None of us are.”
“We’re not ready,” Pralik says. “Some of the females are pregnant. We do not have enough epis either.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Borysk says, slamming his fist into the palm of his opposite hand. “We are only lucky they haven’t attacked already.”
“There were only the two of them,” Mohlad says.
“Did you see their ship? Or any transports?” I ask.
“No,” Mohlad says, doubt in his voice and in the droop of his wings.
I look at the others. Those of us who are old enough to recall, even if dimly, the war before the Devastation know the situation better than the young ones like him. Zzlo are bad, but they are nothing compared to the Pertinaxians. Those had a different name we called them by back then.
Invaders.
If they are here, we are in more trouble than I have enough males to fight.