Blood of Centaurs: Book 12 of The Witch Fairy Series by Bonnie Lamer Page A

our resources are finite.  We are not able to accommodate the entire Sasquatch population.”
    Dagda’s face is perfectly neutral.  “What do you propose?”
    Pholos clears his throat.  “We are willing to accept a certain number of refugees.”
    “In theory, this is wise,” Garren says carefully.  “But it is destined to be harsh in reality.”
    “Are you proposing we take them all in so they can decimate our lands as they did their own?” Pholos demands to know.
    “I am not proposing anything in regard to the refugees.  I simply am looking at your proposal from different angles,” Garren tells him.  He’s not always a twit.
    Hmm.  I haven’t considered the idea that the Sasquatch may be refugees.  Is their realm really that bad off?  I don’t remember reading that in the information Isla gave me.  I thought their realm would survive for at least several more generations before things became that dire.  I’ll ask Kallen later.  He is much more knowledgeable than I am on the subject.  After all, he’s been studying these things his whole life.
    For the first time since we sat down, Tana speaks.  “What do you propose for those not lucky enough to be chosen?” 
    I was thinking the exact same thing.  I’m curious to hear the answer the Centaurs come up with.  I grit my teeth in preparation for another lie.  Turns out, honesty comes from Bayard’s mouth.
    “Let them decide after we give them a number.”
    Dumbfounded, I ask, “You want them to hold a lottery or something and then just leave the rest behind?”
    Pholos responds.  “The Sasquatch realm is still habitable.”  But for how long?
    Before I can get started on more questions, Dagda rises.  “Bayard, this conversation is best served with the Sasquatch present.  Perhaps you can have someone show us to our shelter.”  It’s not really a question.  It’s more of an ‘I’m not going to participate in behind doors conversations anymore’ statement.  Just more polite.
    Pholos opens his mouth to speak but his father holds up a hand.  “No, son.  The King and his family are correct.  Enough has been said.”  Bayard gestures to one of his guards and the now lance-less Centaur who led us in here steps forward.  “Show them to their shelter.”
    Okay, that’s the second time the word shelter has been thrown out there.  Did someone forget to tell me something about our accommodations?  I look up at Kallen who is looking way too innocent. The fact that he’s about to laugh tells me I’m in for a treat.  One I won’t like.

6           
     
    We follow the Centaur back through the office areas and then outside.  At a faster pace than he used before, he leads us down the dirt road that runs in front of the Hall of Justice and past a few other barns of lesser importance.  We almost need to trot to keep up.  A fact Dagda is not happy about, but he will not tell the Centaur to slow down.  He doesn’t want to give the Centaur the dominant position in this little parade.
    We don’t walk too far before we come to another, well, barn.  This one is not quite as fancy as the Hall of Justice, but it’s still nice as far as barns go.  The outside is freshly painted white with red trim and it seems pretty solid.  I don’t really know more about barns than that having not grown up on a farm. 
    Our Centaur guard opens the massive doors and gestures us inside.  We find several Fauns busy straightening up.  All male, of course.  Two are making a bed and one is sweeping the wooden floor.  I expect the smell of horses like at the Hall of Justice, but am pleased to find a woodsy smell in the air instead. 
    “I will return for you fifteen minutes before the reception is scheduled to begin,” our guide informs us.  “Fauns, out!” he orders and the three Fauns scurry out of the barn.  The Centaur follows them and closes the massive doors behind him.  We are left in a dark barn with only a few candles to see