The shout rang through Bo's head, and, much to his dismay, didn't stop there.

It ripped through the quiet grieving, tearing across the night to reach the ears of the tribesmen.

For a moment, there was silence.

Bo looked at the kid, eyes wide.

The boy looked at him, then back to Yvet.

All hell broke loose.

Panicked screams and gruff shouts sounded from nearby as heavy feet pounded towards them. Bo felt like he was in the way of a stampede and wasn't sure whether to run, hide or both.

A woman sprinted over a nearby dune, her skin covered in the traditional tortoiseshell tattoos of Oasis. She lunged towards the boy and wrapped him in her arms, whisking him back and away from them without so much as a second glance.

Next, two older men hurried over the same dune, their heavy footsteps leaving deep marks in the sand.

Bo watched them approach, stunned. Aside from the panic he was experiencing, something was dawning on him. Everyone who approached wore some sort of chalky, yellow paint on their faces.

And he had seen this type of facepaint before at tribe gatherings.

"We come in peace!" He shouted, raising both hands up to show he held no weapon.

Behind the two older men, two young women and three young men barrelled over the dune, eyes glowing with bloodthirst. They charged straight for Bo and Yvet, only stopping when one of the older men let out a gruff shout.

"HOLD!" He snapped, his deep voice booming with authority.

The five younger people snapped to attention; their rampant anger barely held in check. They each held spears in white-knuckled hands, and their arms and legs rippled with the type of muscle that could only be earned through gruelling practice.

"Are you the Yellow Folk?" Bo asked, his voice quavering slightly.

The two older men did not reply, only staring and Bo and Yvet - mostly at Yvet.

Bo watched their faces, seeing the five younger people react to his words. They stirred, tightening their grip on the spears and practically snarling at him.

"M-my name is Bo, and I'm a Karak," he said shakily. "Please, I mean no harm."

"I'll be the judge of that." The voice drifted down from atop the dune, crackling with age.

Bo looked up, finding an elderly woman he recognised as the tribe's Elder. He had often seen her arguing with Ethron and the other tribe elders, which was pretty par for the course considering it was Ethron.

"Madam…" Bo searched for the woman's name and came up blank. "Elder, I was separated from my tribe by the recent storm and chanced upon your light in the dark. I come bearing no ill will and simply seek information."

The woman descended the dune slowly, methodically. Each step was intentional, and the next was already planned before she took it. Yellow paint covered her face in three distinct stripes that dragged from temple to jaw like claw marks. Her hair was back in a tight bun, and around her neck was a collection of smooth white stones on a thick string.

She was perhaps a little younger than Ethron, although it was hard to tell. And she walked with a weathered cane hewn from the leg bone of some enormous creature.

Her slow, drawn-out approach made Bo sweat.

She stopped beside the two older men, looking at Bo and Yvet with a measured gaze. Her wrinkled face gave no tells as to what she was thinking, remaining a cold mask worn only by those in authority.

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"Why should I believe you?" She asked after sizing them up.

"Ask me anything about the Karak, and I can tell you. Anything." Bo replied so quickly his tongue almost tripped over itself in an attempt to get the words out.

The Elder shook her head dismissively. "Things can be learned through dishonest means," she said coldly. "And who is to say we can even trust the Karak?"

Bo bit his lip and glanced down at Yvet, who had curled around his leg protectively. "We Karak are not the type to take advantage of another's misfortune. Surely you know this?"

"I know that my people are grieving," she rasped. "I know that we are wounded, and I know that you have arrived at our hearth with a beast around your ankle. Surely you can see my apprehension?"

"I am no beast."

The yellow folk recoiled in unison, whipping their heads around to see who had spoken. The five younger people bristled with spears raised, and the older men's hands went to their waist, where wickedly sharp bone swords lay in wait.

For her part, the Elder was placid. Her eyes flickered from Bo to Yvet, every movement purposeful.

"It speaks?"

"She speaks."

Bo nodded eagerly. "Yes, she is my partner, a dragon."

"And this is supposed to ease my concern? I have never heard of such a creature, and it certainly doesn't look friendly."

"My name is Yvet. Refer to me as such." Yvet glowered at the Elder, her eyes glowing with naked aggression.

"Yvet is no threat to you or your people," Bo said hurriedly, nudging her with his foot to try and get her to shut up. "We simply wish to avoid the Racten and seek information on their whereabouts. We do not even ask to enter your tribe, merely this."

Even the Elder could not keep her calm exterior when he mentioned Racten, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Perhaps you seek to avoid them, or perhaps you wish to rejoin your murderous tribe. How am I to know which is which?"

The five younger people started to advance on them, spears gleaming, teeth bared.

Bo wracked his brain for something, anything. He thought through his memories of the Yellow Folk, searching for common ground, for a way to set their minds at ease. But he had seldom heard much about them, aside from recently when Gale recounted his time…

"The blacksmith!" He shouted. "I know of your blacksmith!"

They paused their advance, "What of him?" Asked the Elder.

"My friend Gale was trained under your blacksmith's tutelage. Perhaps he could vouch for me!" Bo rushed to talk, his tongue speaking before his brain knew what it was going to say.

At the mention of Gale, one of the older men's eyes widened momentarily, but his face quickly returned to its stoic mask.

The Elder frowned. "I know this name," she muttered. "Gale…"

"He's an old man… or I guess he would have been young when he met you. The Yellow Folk rescued him when he was lost in Fennigen's Gorge. He was missing an arm." Bo silently thanked Gale and watched the Elder's face.

She stayed quiet for a long while, her brow furrowed. When she finally spoke, her gravelly voice seemed uncertain. "I know of who you speak," she rasped. "But that was many years ago; how am I to trust you now?"

Bo frowned. At this point, he didn't think there was anything he could say to get the woman's trust, and he was starting to lose his patience. He ought to be quicker than any of them, so running away was always an option.

Could he take a chance and head off in a random direction hoping the Racten had not also gone that way?

Seeing Bo's silence, the Elder frowned. "You have no other defence?"

"You are frightened, woman. Do not let fear cloud reason." Yvet's voice echoed through their heads. "We have nothing to gain from you besides information. Why would we try and harm your weak tribe?"

Bo looked up at the Elder and shook his head. "I have no other defence, but I can offer you my help. If the Yellow Folk plan to pursue the Racten, I will join your effort to fight them. This is the duty of a fellow tribesman and the honour of a Karak."

Yvet nudged his leg, "Why did you just agree to that?" She hissed. "What about your tribe?"

Bo shook his head at her, staying quiet.

"We do not need your help in such a battle - if it were even to take place." The Elder replied coldly, her voice as sharp as the spears waving at Bo.

"Then I have nothing else to offer."

Bo watched the Elder, his legs tense. At any moment, he might be forced to flee.

They stayed in this deadlock for a few minutes as the older woman stood quietly, her arms folded before her chest. Behind her, the younger tribesmen shifted nervously, their spear tips swaying erratically. The older men, too, watched Bo with grim determination, ready to retaliate the second he made a move.

As they stood in this deadlock, Bo began to notice things about the Yellow Folk. He could see the tears in their clothes and the fresh scars that ran down their forearms and legs. He could see the dried blood on their hands and the gaunt look of people who hadn't slept in days.

They were exhausted. And the Elder knew it.

Finally, she spoke. "The Racten went towards the rift," she gestured behind her. "Their numbers far outweigh that of even two tribes combined, and despite a fierce battle, we barely killed half of them."

"Do you wish to retaliate?" Bo asked quietly, his blood boiling.

"We do."

Bo licked his lips nervously, remembering the glowing cave he had seen beneath the ridge.

"Then I can help."