Sparla chuckled softly to herself.  [i]Demand?  My, my, this one's got some fire in her.[/i]  She turned back to the war room's central table, before which she stood.  Her eyes danced across the assembled Chosen, there faces and names well known to her, even if they weren't exactly close.  

"If we stay in this castle," she began speaking, abruptly, "we'll die.  The Tuskers aren't trained to hold a place like this during a siege.  Hell, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who'd be of any use, and I can't kill a whole damned army on my own."  Her magic was an incredibly versatile weapon, after all, and could kill just as effectively from the top of a wall as in the thick of battle—perhaps even more so.

She drummed the fingers of one hand against the table, while placing the other flat and shifting her weight onto it.  "Shouldn't these bunnies have a map of the land around this place?  We could probably find a defensible position that won't turn into a trap."  As she spoke, her words grew distant, her attention, if not her gaze, shifting away from the table.

There was something, something... off.  Not a detail, not an event, not exactly.  There was just something in the room, prickling at the edge of her... sight?  Hearing?  It was hard to say.  It was familiar, yet strange.  It was important, but certainly actually almost distinctly irrelevant to anything at all.  Then, she had it–

It was no good.  Maybe one of the other's would say something about it.