Thread:BlackDragonKid/@comment-26863232-20181107214505/@comment-26863232-20181122021730

"Hey, bub!" The beaver snarls. "Stick to your own business!" Then they continue to brawl as a small crowd begins to gather. Other passerby are trying to stay far from the fight.

It's now afternoon, and the sun is high in the sky. The street is beginning to crowd up with people; rodents with dirty clothes and scratches and burn marks. The crowd is beginning to cheer; some are rooting for the copyu, and others for the braver. The Western Wings, it occurs to you, are the slums of the kingdom.