When Heror woke in the morning, the Sun was already above the horizon – golden light occluded in a halo behind a sheet of overcast. A light breeze swam through the open air. In the distant forests, birds sang and chattered.

The air was cooler at the border. It was a welcome change for Heror. While Opelites around him shivered and huddled closer to the fire, Heror was soothed by the cool winds. It wasn’t long before it reminded him of Pylantheum, however, and his longing to leave returned. He tried to dismiss the thought as soon as it came. He was here now. And it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.

Braylyn cooked breakfast and distributed rations of eggs and meat in wooden bowls, calling up soldiers one by one. Heror took food and water back to his bench. He started to eat, spearing a clump of eggs with a wooden fork. After a moment, however, he glanced around the group and saw that someone was missing.

“Where’s Nihlukei?” Heror asked.

“Don’t know,” Braylyn responded. “Probably back at the longhouse. Saw a couple soldiers enter camp through the breach earlier this morning. I assume they were scouts, returning with more information.”

“Has he slept?” Heror said, peering in the direction of the main encampment.

“I don’t think he does that,” Plaezekei muttered with a chuckle.

The other camps began to stir just as they did. Siephalls emerged with weary eyes and dried bandages, talking amongst themselves in hushed morning voices. The Sun continued to rise, but a light layer of shade still blanketed the land. Soon, Nihlukei approached from the north. Braylyn saw him first, and called out to the officer.

“Nihlukei!” Braylyn exclaimed. “Care for some grub?”

“Thank you, but I already ate,” Nihlukei replied, stepping into the campsite. “I have news from the briefings. Is everyone present? If anyone is sleeping, someone please wake them up. This is important.”

Heror and Braylyn fetched the soldiers who remained in their tents, and soon, everyone was situated. Nihlukei looked around the group one last time and nodded.

“Good. Let’s begin,” the siekarum said. “I attended two briefings overnight, one after the battle, and one early this morning. The first briefing began with a losses report. I’m pleased to say that in the fighting last night, our Ardysan force of one thousand soldiers only lost thirty-six men. Although our unit is the smallest, we fielded the least losses, with only two. Meanwhile, we managed to wipe out 2,500 Midan foot soldiers, thinning their numbers even more. It was a decisive victory, and I can’t help but think we played a large part in making it that way. Let’s acknowledge each other for the excellent performance, with minimal preparation, no less.”

Nihlukei started to clap, and the others followed. After a few cheers, the noise died down again, and Nihlukei took a deep breath.

“The first briefing was primarily a post-battle report,” he went on. “The second was a field report, brought in by scouts who returned from Mide overnight. These scouts gave us crucial updates regarding the status of the Midan army near the border. From this information, the commanding siekangh Oranthei has planned our next course of action.”

Nihlukei paused for a moment, ensuring he had everyone’s attention. Then he continued.

“We know that most of the Midan forces to this point have been supplied from Mote, the Midan city to the northeast,” he explained. “But closer to the border, on the southern ridge of the Mides, directly north of the breach, our scouts have identified a potential staging ground for attacks on the wall. It’s a small peak, accessed through a gap in the highlands known as Kraana’s Pass. Our scouts surveyed this staging ground, and found that the Midans are estimated to have less than 5,000 soldiers at this position. Most of these soldiers are djauuls. There does not appear to be a strong presence of elinji – traditionally the Midans’ best soldiers.”

“5,000? That’s still more than our numbers by a long shot,” one siephall scoffed.

“Yes, that’s true,” Nihlukei said, a small smile inching onto his face. “But not when 12,000 reinforcements arrive from other Khi Thungs along the Ardysan border.”

The group went silent for a moment. Eyes went wide. Nihlukei nodded, his smile slowly fading as a serious air overtook him again.

“The decisive victory last night was the last of three failed campaigns against the wall by skirmishing djauul forces, and the most lopsided defeat for the Midans,” Nihlukei continued. “Beyond their numbers being thinned, we believe their confidence to be shaken, and we think we can cement our control of the wall breach by eliminating this staging ground with an offensive attack. We’ll remain here in defense of the wall until the reinforcements arrive. And then, we will storm the pass. If all goes well, with Opela’s grace, we’ll take the peak, sever their connection to the wall, and end this conflict.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Braylyn grumbled, shaking his head. “By Shen, they broke the wall! They can’t already be on the ropes.”

“I was surprised, too,” Nihlukei admitted. “But our scouts’ information is reliable. All we can hope is that the Midans won’t strengthen their position before our reinforcements arrive. The forces from the westernmost Khi Thung are expected to arrive here in a few days. Until then… we’ll have to hold out against any recurring attacks. I don’t expect any at this point. Not while the Midans are still recuperating.”

“I thought you didn’t want an offensive campaign,” Heror prodded, eyeing the siekarum.

“I certainly don’t want a prolonged offensive campaign,” Nihlukei answered. “But we can only do so much from behind the wall. With this one attack, we can give ourselves enough space to refortify the wall before the Midans regain their strength. It’s an offensive maneuver, with long-term defensive implications in mind.”

The siekarum glanced around the group and nodded.

“In the meantime,” he said. “We’ll bide our time here. You may take this day to rest and walk about the camp if you want. Those who wish to train can speak to me. And tomorrow, we’ll begin our full unit training sessions again.”

Most of the siephalls began eating and talking again, but Heror stood from his seat on the bench and approached Nihlukei.

“Siekarum.”

Nihlukei gave Heror a curious look and a small laugh.

“Just ‘Nihlukei’ is fine. What is it?”

“I was wondering where Tralics’ tent was,” Heror went on. “I have a friend in that unit.”

“Of course,” Nihlukei replied, pointing in the direction of the wall. “It’s on the eastern edge of the road, lined up with the longhouse. If you have any trouble, just ask around and you should be able to find it.”

Heror nodded. He quickly finished his meal and set the empty wooden bowl down on the bench. Then he left the camp, heading north along the dirt road, leaving his helmet behind.

The overcast slowly started to clear, and as Heror carried on down the road, he felt the warmth of the Sun greet him from the east. It was still a quiet morning. Many of the siephalls rested at their camps. Few traversed the roads. Heror appreciated this morning walk. In Cephragon, morning walks were accompanied by prying eyes and judging scowls. Here, Heror still wasn’t an equal. But he at least felt closer.

The young lad found Tralics’ tent, and was then informed – after some petty deception from the siekarum – that Ucankacei had been injured, and was in the medical tent to the south. Heror hurried away and ventured past scarlet canvases, through wisping smoke and cool morning air, until he came to his destination.

The medical tent was tall, and it had looming flaps on either side. As Heror approached, soft cries of agony met his ears. He winced, his eyes falling to the dirt. There, he saw dried remnants of blood spots, long seeped into the ground. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, pushing past the flap.

Inside the medical tent, eight rows of beds were sprawled out, stretching all the way to the other end of the enclosure. The wind snuck through the tent’s stitching only in small whispers, and the air was heavy, filled with the scent of liquor and blood. In the shade, Heror saw dozens of soldiers lying in beds. Some were unconscious, while others labored at pains, reddened bandages wrapped around deep cuts and intrusions. The healers were gone, no doubt resting after a long night of work. In their absence, a fragile silence lingered.

Grimacing, Heror scanned the area. After a moment, he saw what looked like an older, thinner man in the northeastern corner. He started that way, and soon enough, his suspicions were confirmed. Ucankacei lay on a bed in a shadowy corner, sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm.

Heror smiled slightly, knowing his friend was safe. He then saw the old man’s wound. A wide bandage had been wrapped around his left calf, and on the backside of the calf, Heror saw a slight indent and a stain of red. Heror’s smile faded. He took a deep breath.

After a moment, he placed a hand on Ucankacei’s shoulder.

“Ucankacei.”

Heror said the name again, and soon, Ucankacei woke, his eyes dreary. They soon lightened as he saw Heror, however. With a jolt of energy, Ucankacei smiled and sat up.

“Heror!” he exclaimed.

Heror smiled and patted Ucankacei on the shoulder.

“Lie back down,” Heror said with a chuckle. “You should be resting.”

Ucankacei groaned and leaned back into his straw pillow. Once he was settled, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

“It’s good to see you, my boy,” he told Heror. “Not that I was worried. I knew you’d make it through.”

“I was a little worried about you, if we’re being honest with each other,” Heror admitted.

“Oof,” Ucankacei chuckled. “If you’re going to call me old, just say it. Ha!”

Heror grinned, then motioned to the bandage on Ucankacei’s calf.

“What happened there?”

“Oh, it was a stupid mistake,” Ucankacei grumbled. “Toward the end of the battle, the djauuls engaged Tralics’ line with force. We were pushed back a bit, and rather than step back with my line, I tried to be a hero. I bested one of those damned things, but another nicked my tendon with his blade. It wasn’t a direct cut, but it did some damage. Luckily, another one of Tralics’ men pulled me back. I limped on it for the rest of the battle, and when the adrenaline wore off, I just fell down. Ha.”

Ucankacei shook his head and smiled sadly, his eyes drifting off. Heror’s own eyes fell to the ground for a moment. He crossed his arms and leaned against a wooden tent stake.

“Well, at least you got through.”

“I saw Nihlukei’s unit was holding its own,” Ucankacei said. “I couldn’t recognize you through all the armor. Were you in the front row?”

Heror nodded. Ucankacei chuckled and shook his head again.

“And you got out without a scratch,” he lauded. “I told you, boy. You were meant for this.”

“I had some help,” Heror admitted.

“Ah, everyone has help,” Ucankacei muttered. “But I’m willing to bet you helped someone else along the way. That, my friend, is the mark of a good soldier. The siekarums have the option of promoting siephalls to the rank of siekariphae. I have no doubt you’ll be on your way there soon.”

Heror smiled, but inside his head, his thoughts were conflicted. He brushed away the fog with a blink and glanced down at Ucankacei’s wound again, clearing his throat.

“How long is that going to hold you up for?” Heror asked.

“The healers did what they could, but the cut was still mighty deep,” Ucankacei replied. “Makes me wonder what would’ve happened if the blade had gone clean through. I’d be stomping around with a stump for a foot, ha. But they said it’ll take time. At least three weeks before I can start walking again. I imagine I’ll be limping for a while. But at least I can say I have battle scars now.”

Heror nodded. Ucankacei now eyed him.

“I assume you heard about the plan?” the old man asked.

“Nihlukei told us this morning.”

Ucankacei grinned and adjusted his neck upon his pillow. He let out another sigh and gritted his teeth.

“I wish I could be there with you,” he lamented. “Taking the fight to the Midans. Can I tell you something, Heror? In all my years as a siekarum, all my years serving for the glory of Ardys… I never fought in an actual battle. I might have called them battles to… sensationalize, but… I never fought in a real battle. I roamed and roamed and called myself more than what I was. The stakes were never this high. The responsibility never greater. And now, when it’s actually real… I can’t be there for my people…”

Ucankacei’s voice broke a bit, and Heror stepped forward, kneeling beside the old man’s bed. Ucankacei let out a wrinkled sigh and whimpered. Heror put a hand on Ucankacei’s shoulder. Ucankacei clasped Heror’s hand with his worn palm, smiling warmly at the young man, his eyes welling up.

“You go make me proud, Heror,” he managed. “I’ll fight on through you.”

Heror said nothing. He swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded to his friend, grasping his hand tighter. Soon, Ucankacei drifted back to sleep, but Heror stayed with him. He knelt beside the bed, his head hanging down as he lost himself in thought.

It must have been hours before Heror stood. Through the tent’s stitching, the Sun was at its pinnacle, slowly sinking into the west. Heror heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Nihlukei approaching, green cloaks flowing behind him.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Heror,” Nihlukei said. “Tralics told me you came this way.”

“What’s wrong?” Heror asked.

“It’s a minor thing. Khoulane wanted to get some training in today. I’ve been trying to assist him with his form, but there are a few things he just isn’t getting. I thought maybe having a visual example to follow would help him gather things quicker. Would you mind helping me teach him?”

“I can help.”

Nihlukei smiled and nodded, then looked past Heror toward Ucankacei.

“Is this your friend?”

Heror nodded.

“He’s the one who taught me,” Heror added.

“It was his best work,” Nihlukei commented with a smile. “He’ll be alright if you leave him on his own?”

Heror nodded again. Nihlukei turned and motioned for Heror to follow. They ventured outside and made their way back to their camp, where several siephalls sat in the Sun. Some sat in a circle in the dirt, playing a betting game, while others chatted. Heror grabbed his sword and aspidan from his tent and followed Nihlukei.

In the long green grass field beyond the encampment, Heror saw Khoulane standing on his own. The boy had his sword in hand, swinging over and over and over – faster and faster – his form different every time. Heror could tell the boy was becoming agitated; even in the mild afternoon air, his forehead was caked in sweat, and as they approached, they could hear him straining.

“Khoulane!” Nihlukei exclaimed. “Khoulane, stop. Rest.”

Khoulane swung one more time, then lowered his arms and started to catch his breath. He saw Heror and Nihlukei approaching, and he shrugged, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” Khoulane rambled. “Nothing feels wrong. But maybe that’s because I don’t know what feels right. I don’t know what feels wrong because I don’t know what feels right. I just… I just don’t know.”

“Khoulane, it’s alright,” Nihlukei offered, raising a hand to calm him down. “Get some water. Take a break, and in a few minutes, Heror will help you.”

Khoulane looked at Heror, and there was a spark of recognition in his eyes. He took a deep breath, nodded, and started back toward the campsite to get his canteen. Nihlukei watched him as he went. So too did Heror.

The boy was smaller, and naturally, Heror worried about his odds in the coming charge. But he was quick, and he was eager. Those two things, Heror thought, were things they could build on.

Nihlikei seemed to agree.

“He’s eccentric,” the siekarum said after a few seconds. “But he has spunk. And he just wants to learn.”

Heror watched the siekarum as he spoke. It never ceased to surprise him how Nihlukei acted toward his subordinates. Other siekarums might have looked away from Khoulane at the sight of his skin, or the way he acted. But Nihlukei talked about his strengths and his weaknesses. His potential, and his energy. Heror had assumed that no Opelite like this existed. And here, he knew he had been wrong. He wanted to be jaded still – it’s how he’d lived for so long – but he couldn’t help but feel hope.

Khoulane returned with his canteen in hand, and they began working. Nihlukei paced back a few steps and stood across from Heror.

“Just watch this time, Khoulane,” Nihlukei told the boy. “I am going to defend against a standard attack from Heror. Watch Heror’s feet, and how he starts with his dominant foot back, before transferring his weight with his swing.”

Nihlukei nodded to Heror, and Heror performed a standard outside swing toward Nihlukei’s left side. Nihlukei blocked the sword with his aspidan, then looked to Khoulane.

“Did you get that?”

Khoulane thought for a moment, then shook his head. Nihlukei sighed and started to ready himself again, when Khoulane spoke.

“Could you slow it down a bit? I think I just need to pay attention to the details.”

“Absolutely,” Nihlukei replied. “Heror.”

Heror swung again, slowing his motion to emphasize the different checkpoints. Nihlukei again contacted Heror’s sword with the aspidan. After the rep was over, they both looked at Khoulane.

“Why are his legs moving?” Khoulane asked, pointing at Heror. “I thought we were supposed to keep a strong base.”

“A strong base is not a static base,” Nihlukei explained. “If you keep swinging and don’t move your feet accordingly, you’re going to lose your balance eventually. A common fallacy is that only the upper body matters in swordcraft. That’s not true. The upper and lower body must be in harmony. A strong base adapts to every swing, to maintain balance.”

Khoulane stared. Nihlukei raised an eyebrow, his eyes tired.

“Does that make sense?” he asked.

Khoulane thought to himself again. Then he turned to Heror.

“Do it a few more times,” he answered. “I want to see it.”

Nihlukei nodded and turned back to Heror with a smirk. Heror swung a couple more times, keeping his form steady. After a few repetitions, he glanced off to the side and saw Khoulane mimicking his motions, his feet moving with his arms. After a few minutes of wordless demonstrations, Nihlukei turned back to Khoulane.

“How about now?” the siekarum asked. “You think you can put it into action?”

Khoulane mirrored the motion once more. Then he nodded.

“I’ll give it a try.”

“Good,” Nihlukei said. “Try it against Heror.”

Khoulane picked up his sword and aspidan and approached Heror, while Nihlukei stepped back to observe. Khoulane readied himself, widening his stance and sliding back his dominant foot, as he’d seen Heror do. He then swung forward, rotating his lower body as he did so. Heror blocked, and Khoulane rotated back, as if his left leg was a hinge. He swung a few more times, each time mirroring what Heror had shown him. After his fifth swing, Nihlukei clapped twice and stepped forward, smiling widely.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Very good, Khoulane! How did that feel?”

“Better,” Khoulane admitted.

“It looked better, too,” the siekarum said. “Now you’ll go against me. If you repeat that rhythm, we can move on to something else.”

Khoulane indeed repeated the rhythm, and his fundamentals were noticeably smoother after watching Heror. They trained until sunset. Nihlukei taught, while Heror demonstrated techniques. By the time the Sun hit the western horizon, its orange light seeping into the trees below, Khoulane was a new swordsman. Although he was smaller than Heror and Nihlukei, he sent forth impressive momentum with each advance, and with his last sparring attempt, he almost knocked Nihlukei off-balance – as he’d set out to do.

“Excellent, Khoulane!” Nihlukei exclaimed, catching his breath. “You see how reworking your base allowed you to open up your arsenal of moves? Keep that balance, and you’ll grow into a fearsome swordsman.”

“Thank you, Nihlukei,” Khoulane said with a nod.

He then turned to Heror, who stood off to the side, watching with a small smile on his face.

“Thank you, Heror.”

Heror nodded, and Khoulane turned back toward camp. Heror started to follow him, but before he could, Nihlukei laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Heror, actually, could you wait here? I’ll be back in a moment.”

Heror was confused, but he nodded to the siekarum, and Nihlukei left, heading back toward camp. Silence fell in quickly, and Heror turned back toward the sunset. The rains were far gone. Vermillion cirrocumulus clouds snaked across the sky in long, velvet tufts. A gentle, steady wind came in from the northwest. Heror could hear the soft hum of the tree leaves.

After a few minutes, Heror heard a voice call out behind him, and he turned to see Nihlukei returning with two other siephalls: Braylyn and Plaezekei. As they approached, Nihlukei nodded to Heror, then turned to the others.

“If you three would line up for me,” Nihlukei said. “I have something for you all.”

Braylyn filed in on Heror’s right, while Plaezekei stood to his left. Once they were settled, Nihlukei reached into his armor pouch and pulled out a small wooden container with a hinge on the back. He opened the container, and inside, Heror could see five small stitched patches with metal pins. Before he could surmise the meaning of the pins, Nihlukei started to speak, face bathed in amber light.

“Every siekarum has the option to promote as many as five siephalls under their command to the position of siekariphae,” Nihlukei began. “I’ll inform the others later, as many of them are currently resting. But I have decided to award the three of you with this position.”

There was a short pause. Heror glanced at each of his comrades -- an ashen elf, and an Opelite from the mahallas of Cephragon.

“I often regret how restrained I am when awarding the rank of siekariphae,” Nihlukei went on. “I take this very seriously, and I don’t often know my siephalls long enough to adequately judge their character and worth. But in the short time knowing you three, I’ve watched you all go above and beyond with your duties. I believe you all to be deserving of this honor. Under normal circumstances, I would wait to give you these. But in a few days, we’ll march into Mide for the first time in a thousand years. It will be dangerous. And if I don’t make it back, I want one of you to lead the men in my stead.”

Nihlukei glanced down at the box in his hand. He stepped toward Braylyn.

“The siekariphae takes over for the siekarum when the siekarum perishes,” he explained. “The siekariphae assists the siekarum with all duties relating to the betterment of his unit. But even more than that, the siekariphae is an example for siephalls to follow, should they commit themselves to protecting the Kingdom of Ardys, and all within.”

Now Nihlukei reached into the container and pulled out the first patch, one with an intricate turtle design embedded in its stitching.

“For Braylyn,” Nihlukei said. “The siekariphae mark of the turtle. You have many years of wisdom, and you provide shelter for our ranks. But beyond that, you are battle-hardened, strong, and in times of great turmoil, your shell provides us with a haven from it all.”

Braylyn took the turtle patch and nodded to Nihlukei. The siekarum then made his way across the line to Plaezekei. He pulled out a second patch, this one depicting the rugged head and beak of a bald eagle.

“For Plaezekei,” Nihlukei continued. “The siekariphae mark of the northern eagle. You are quiet, sometimes distant. But when one of your own needs your help, you swoop in and lay your own life on the line to preserve theirs. I saw you do it for Heror, and I saw you do it for Correlicai. Your selflessness makes you an ideal servant for the good of Ardys, a role I know you will cherish.”

Plaezekei took the patch and studied it. Now Nihlukei came to the center of the line, holding the last patch for Heror to take. Heror took it from the siekarum, and as he flipped it over, he saw the profile of a wolf staring back at him, its gray fur swallowed by a sea of navy blue stitching.

“For Heror,” Nihlukei concluded. “The siekariphae mark of the wolf. You are a fierce fighter, and you rally the pack around you in battle. But wolves must also care for the pack, and support the pack. At times, you will be called on to lead the pack. You have the temperament of a lone wolf, stoic and righteous. But because the pack needs you, you will be there for them, just as the wolf is there for his pack.”

The siekarum stepped away, but Heror’s eyes remained fixed on the wolf patch. At the sight of the symbol of Pylantheum, he became stuck between Kingdoms.

He had always dreamed of belonging elsewhere. He hadn’t expected to find that feeling here.

As Heror grappled with his thoughts, Nihlukei stood in front of the newly-promoted siekariphae. He addressed them again.

“I’m excited to see what the future holds for all of you, and I thank you again for helping me. I’ll admit I was a bit disheartened on the night you came to the Khi Thung. The two previous battles had been costly for my unit. But this new group has given me newfound energy. And I know that we will meet any challenge head-on, now that we have you three helping to lead us.”

Nihlukei glanced past the three. The Sun was almost set below the trees. The sky darkened into a deep blue. Stars began to show through the fading orange canopy.

“You may head back to camp now,” Nihlukei told them. “Keep the news to yourselves for now. I will tell the others in the morning.”

Braylyn and Plaezekei left, heading back to the tents. Heror, however, was frozen in place, his eyes fixated on the patch. Nihlukei started to leave, but he noticed Heror wasn’t moving. The siekarum stopped.

“Heror?” he asked. “Everything alright?”

Heror glanced at Nihlukei and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he pursed his lips and turned back to the west, trying to catch the last light of the Sun as it fell below the woodlands. Nihlukei stepped up beside him. Heror gave him another glance, then took a deep breath.

“Is something wrong?” Nihlukei asked.

Heror looked at the siekarum.

“Have you ever been to Cephragon?”

Nihlukei nodded. Heror cast his eyes ahead.

“Do you know about the mahallas?”

Nihlukei nodded again.

“So you know how badly they treat us,” Heror continued. “How badly they treat anyone who isn’t exactly like them…”

He trailed off, unsure how to articulate his thoughts. He sighed in frustration and glanced at the siekarum.

“I’m half-else. My blood is dirty,” he went on, agitation stirring. “Braylyn is an ashen elf. That doesn’t bother you? That doesn’t bother the other siekarums?”

“It bothers them,” Nihlukei replied quietly with a nod. “Not me.”

Heror looked at Nihlukei, exasperated. After a moment, his eyes rose up, and he shook his head.

“I spent my entire life in the mahallas,” Heror went on. “And all that time, I may as well have been dirt to them. Every day, they told me they didn’t want me, but they trapped me there anyway. I never wanted to stay there. I wanted to get out and find my mother. Find out why she left me there. But even outside the walls, I’m still… I’m still…”

His voice broke, and he stopped mid-sentence. His mind went back behind the walls of Cephragon, and the great domineering towers. He remembered the words he’d heard from Thaeolai, the night before they were separated.

Even after we leave to fight at the border… I think we’ll still be walled in. Just… in a different way.

Heror hung his head, shaking it slowly as a dusk wind whistled through the blades of grass.

“I never wanted to fight for Ardys.”

Silence settled in, as the last light of the Sun lingered on the tops of the trees.

“Then don’t.”

Heror heard the words, but he wasn’t sure he heard them correctly. He turned toward Nihlukei, eyes wide in disbelief. In Nihlukei’s face, there was only conviction.

“Fight for us,” Nihlukei said. “Fight for your pack.”

Nihlukei offered Heror a small smile, then departed for camp. Heror dwelled on the words in the dying light. And as the last sliver of sun fell into clouded darkness, he gave the wilderness a parting glance, then turned and followed the siekarum, toward the fireglow.

Behind him, a cold wind crept in.