Bane had a small smile before he beckoned me into his hut. Wading through the center, I was bombarded by several centaurs, giving their platitudes. Platitudes that were unfounded, uncalled for. I failed them in my first life and in nine centuries, they have suffered. All magical creatures have suffered because I failed. The only bastions that exist, as far as I know, are France and Transylvania. A surprise that the centaur’s never relocated to France. Shaking my head in reverie, I made my way to the hut. Lifting the fur that was the opening into the hut, I noticed Bane, laying on the ground in front of a small ritual circle. An adult female was next to him, I assume his mate. She wore a simple fur tunic to cover herself. 