User blog comment:Guildmaster Grovyle/JLE Role Play, Fall 2015/@comment-5837525-20151112043652

(In the Thicket throne room, interim deer king Blackthorn dictates orders to an aide.)

Blackthorn: Send another group of harvesters to the north field so they can salvage what they can.

Aide: Yes, sire.

Blackthorn: Have there been any reports of citzens falling ill yet?

Aide: No, sire.

Blackthorn: Perhaps we simply "lucked out", as the phrase goes... Regardless, have the outer patrols do one more thorough perimeter sweep.

Aide: Yes, sire.

Blackthorn: ...How is Bramble doing?

Aide: He keeps a brave face, but it's clear he misses his father deerly.

Blackthorn: As do we all. I pray for his swift and safe return... That will be all for now.

Aide: *bowing* Understood, sire.