Braith stopped. The man he was speaking to–dark haired, handsome apart from a scar beneath one eye–walked on towards the roundhouse. ‘What goes?’ Camlin said. ‘Recruits,’ Braith answered, eyes following the new arrivals. ‘Recruits? I’d wager they’re not woodsmen, Braith. What is this about?’ ‘It’s complicated, remember. But for you and the other lads, you need recall only one word,’ Camlin’s chief said grimly. ‘Vengeance.’
Has to be Rhin's champion
