Korgan Janeksson was one of the few seniors left on the Ark. He was by far the oldest. He and his fellow ancients were the only adults remaining in the Ark. They had listened politely to the report brought back by the children, and now discussed it among themselves.
He and his peers were unsure what they could do. They were hoping to brainstorm the problem and come up with something. There were only young children and ancient dodards like himself remaining. All the other adults had gone to war.
The Dragon Child had said that the enemy was approaching even so. Apparently the adult’s expeditionary force had been unsuccessful. For all the discussion, arguments and brainstorming among his fellow seniors he felt them all looking at him. He, alone, had anything approaching military experience. He was much, much older than anyone else on the Ark and knew this to be true. He’d watched everyone else in the room grow up.
The other’s were competent in their fields, no doubt about it. They were masters, but war was beyond their ken. The Kindred had not been in a war...ever. He and a very few others, now dead or gone, retained any knowledge of the military arts. The rest were practitioners of other arts and sciences, but not war.
Korgan Janeksson struggled to control his rebellious body. By all rights he should long since have died. He had intended to die some time ago but life had recently gone from the dull and boring to moderately interesting. Recently it had become panic stricken. Those poor boys who had been attacked by the invaders. He felt for them, “he had been there done that, although it had been SO long ago that no one really believed him any longer if he spoke of it. Just another tale by a delirious ancient.
Even so, he couldn’t in all good conscious leave his kith and kin while the crisis was upon them. He was holding out for as long as he could. Perhaps something would come up, perhaps he could be of some help in some way. If he could just, bully his damn body into staying alive a while longer.