He had no wish for the hot bitter-tasting brew that Keri had offered him, but he did not wish to hurt her feelings and accepted with a smile. She blushed and lowered her eyes, perhaps embarrassed by the memory of the moment they had shared. These two-foots seemed uncomfortable with such displays of emotion, with the notable exception of anger. Anger and rage seemed entirely acceptable to two-foots, but none of the softer feelings. Batta Flor sighed. It was most odd, but still, being a warrior nation had allowed the Duroni to remain free of oppression while the gentle, peace-loving Madrelli had been enslaved for many long generations past. Who was to say that the two-foots were wrong. But even as Batta Flor contemplated such thoughts, he knew that it was not so. The two-foots were living on borrowed time, and they and their warrior state existed only so long as the masters chose to allow them freedom. That time of freedom was nearly over, whether the two-foots believed it or not.
