Viglar walked down the armor-plated corridor deep in the Rocky Mountains in Montana, where they'd chosen to make their headquarters. It reminded him of the barracks back on their home planet where he'd spent most of his time after his second change.
Viglar bit off a Zyrgin swear word when he heard a high girlish voice coming from the direction of the tunnel that led to Zacar's breeders home. A warrior had dignity, should never run from the enemy. To run was the sign of a warrior with no courage or honor. He camouflaged and ran.
Zacar's six-year-old daughter, Alissa and her tea parties were a menace to a decent warrior, who didn't have time to sit on the floor, at a miniature table and sip questionable fluids, from a cup smaller than his smallest finger.