Five shadowy figures sat in a circle, a wavering fire at its center casting shadows on their white faces and dancing across their fire-red hair. Dark circles framed their eyes, each an identical shade of unnatural, icy blue.

“Our numbers may be the lowest they have ever been,” one figure said.

“I am well aware,” another snapped. “My own child was taken just this past turn. I’ve lashed my other to a tree just to keep them from running after.”

A third figure hissed through their teeth. “Our scouts would not be so easily taken if we sent out larger groups.”

“Our numbers may be the lowest they have ever been,” reiterated the first.

“Then we need to increase our numbers,” a fourth figure announced.

“And how do you propose we do that?” the second figure sniffed. “Do you seek to make one of us with child tonight? Do you think that would solve all of our problems?”

The fourth figure laughed. “If I smelled a need upon you I assure you I would rise to the occasion, but you do not appear in such a mood.”

“It would make no difference,” spat the third. “Our blood has always been thinner than that of the outside. We are foxes and they are rabbits.”

“Are there any actual suggestions, then?”

“There is the white-haired child,” the first figure said.

“What of it?” the second figure frowned.

“They have our eyes. None have ever had our eyes before.”

“The problem with Kaimera has never been the color of their eyes.”

“It must mean something, though.”

“There’s no way to know,” the second figure shook their head. “Not yet, anyway.”

"Perhaps it is a sign..." the fifth figure, who had yet to speak, began in barely a whisper. "Maybe it is time to look for—"

"Speak that name and I will cut out your tongue, O'oen," the second figure growled.

Silence fell. There was only the crackling of the fire.