Gilre knew Yilgo didn't realize it yet, but Gilre knew Yilgo would be the perfect leader. He might not have been the best speaker, but he was quick-witted yet strategic, or at least he had more common sense than she did. After all, he had been the one to get all the dwarves out of the barrels, hadn't he?
Now the dwarves were calling for revenge and Yilgo found himself forced to lead a band of angry dwarves with no bloodlust of his own. Gilre made her way through the crowd towards her brother. He was relieved to see her. He bent down and whispered in her ear.
"Gilre, as soon as possible, let's get out of here and head home," he said.
"I don't think there's room for everyone at our house," Gilre said, misunderstanding him, "but we do have to get out of here soon before the rest come back."
"The rest?" Yilgo asked, frowning, "what do you mean the rest?"
"I'm guessing there's at least ten more by the amount of baggage they have," Gilre said, gesturing to the large backpacks surrounding a burned-out campfire. Overhearing their conversation, a large dwarf barked, "we can take 'em!" Everyone cheered. Yilgo looked exasperated.
"Good luck, Yilgo," Gilre said, and drifted back into the crowd, letting her brother lead the group. As she glanced back of her overwhelmed, out of place brother, she felt a sense of pride. Of course, it wasn't exactly his choice to lead the group, but still.
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