On the peak of Fox Mountain, the sun had baked the rock black, and the wind howled like the roar of some great beast, whistling through passes and over ridges like some enormous, tectonic instrument.

The black mountain carved up from the golden desert floor, almost scraping the sky with its majesty and looming over the desert like the prow of some vast buried ship under the sand.

And on this mountain were many tribes, gathered together for the first time in half a year at least. Among them, the Karak.

Perhaps larger in number than most, the Karak did not stand out in any particular field. While big, they weren't the biggest; while fearsome, they weren't the fiercest; while strong, they weren't the strongest.

So, why did they get the best spot on the mountain? Why did they get to set up camp closest to the peak?

Ethron.

No tribe had a leader quite like him.

He alone seemed to drag the Karak with him to the peak of the mountain, hauling them behind him with single-minded determination. And, as his tribesmen milled outside a large tent on the hilltop, chatting with friends and acquaintances from other tribes, many of who they hadn't seen in years, Ethron was inside, fighting for them.

"Listen here, Pyata, we are making the first offering!" Ethron barked. He had a way of saying something like it was fact and not a suggestion, as though his words were some decree from on high.

All around him, the elders of the gathered tribes sat with their legs crossed and arms folded. Including him, there were six elders in total, all of them wizened and aged like ancient tree bark left out to dry in the desert sun.

They were sat around an old leather matt, battered and aged beyond whatever colour it was supposed to be.

There were three men and three women, each with a sly, calculated air to them. The one he had been shouting at, Pyata, was an old man with a thick white beard and a face covered in ugly, raw pockmarks that looked like miniature festering stab wounds. His eyes were dark and gloomy, watching Ethron with a joyless, lightless frustration.

Pyata's eyes met Ethron's gaze and held tight like a firm handshake taken visual form. "How did you figure that one out?"

Another one of the elders, an older woman with greyish, frizzy hair and some sort of bone through her septum, spoke up. "Yes, I do find it curious that you got to make that decision all by yourself. Where were we, the elder's council, when you decided that your tribe would make the first offering?"

The other collected elders grunted in muffled agreement, one of them saying. "He's probably trying to get the best blessing… as always…"

Ethron puffed out his chest like a preening bird and scowled. "You're all too small-minded! This is for the fox. I'm doing this not for myself but for the god's benefit."

"Oh, well, if that's the case, why didn't you just say so? Here, while I'm already letting you walk all over me, would you like me to lie down too?" Pyata asked sardonically. "Am I to really believe that you, Ethron, have no selfish, ulterior motives?" He put particular emphasis on Ethron's name as though it were some sort of swear word.

Ethron held up a hand and spoke. "I'm no fool, Pyata. I know my reputation." He made a beckoning motion, and a young man, Leo, rushed forward from the edge of the tent. "I do not expect you all to take me at my word."

Leo was clutching a small leather sack against his chest and dutifully placed it in Ethron's hand without a sound. Slowly, as the room held its breath, Ethron's old bony fingers unwound the string that closed the sack, pulling it open with the soft brush of rope rubbing against leather.

He turned the sack upside down, and a handful of sparkling white crystals spilled out into his palm. They glowed faintly in the dark tent, twisting and splitting the light that entered them into many fractured colours.

All the gathered elders leaned closer, craning their necks to get a better look at the lustre of the gemstones.

"What are they?" Pyata asked softly, taken aback by the strange way the gems split the light as it passed through them. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like them…"

"These," Ethron said with a flourish, picking up a single gemstone and holding it between his thumb and index finger. "Are an incredibly precious gem that my tribe stumbled across after the storm unearthed an ancient temple."

It was fortunate that all the gathered eyes were laser-focused on the sparkling stones. As - if they had been paying attention to Leo's face - they would have seen him frown at the utter lie Ethron was telling.

Leo, of course, had been there when the stones were found. And, as far as he could remember, Gale had dug them out of the wall of a cave. In fact, Gale had been able to find them quite easily, even confessing that they had no actual use outside of looking rather beautiful.

However, the elders didn't know that. All they knew was that Ethron held in his hand something magical in appearance.

Something they did not have.

"I propose that we offer these, the most valuable of treasures, to the fox this year. Such an offering will surely grant us immense good fortune for the coming year." Ethron tilted the stone so that it caught the light better, sending a flash of multicoloured brilliance across the room.

Pyata frowned. "That's all well and good. I'm sure the fox will love these gems. But surely you weren't planning to use all of these yourself, right?"

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"Might I add that, if you Karak were to give such precious oblations, our tribes' offerings would look rather pitiful in comparison," the woman with the bone through her nose added.

Leo looked at her in disgust, but Ethron let none of the disdain he felt show on his face, maintaining a frigid, meticulously managed exterior.

"Of course, of course, I wouldn't dream of making any other tribes look weak," he said. "Which is why I've come to offer a deal."

"A deal?" Pyata echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"In exchange for allowing the Karak to make the first offerings, we will split these precious stones evenly amongst all the gathered tribes." Ethron's gaze swept across the gathered elders. "Are these terms not prodigiously fair?"

Pyata ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully, eyebrows knitting together. Likewise, the other elders donned contemplative expressions, clearly tempted.

"Hm, I am certainly interested in such an offer," Pyata mused. "But I believe that there must surely be room for negotiations, no?"

Ethron's face remained stonily placid, neither flinching nor twitching in anger. He smiled sharply and said, "Of course."

A thin, sharkish smile split Pyata's face, twisting the many lines and wrinkles that ran along his leathery skin. "Excellent."

***

As the meeting came to an end, Leo rushed to Ethron's side and motioned to shepherd him out of the tent. It had been hard to watch, never mind take part in, and he could only imagine that the old man must be tired… although he didn't look it.

He reached down to take Ethron's arm, but the man's hand shot out, slapping Leo's wrist away.

"Don't touch me!" Ethron growled, pulling himself up to what wasn't a particularly great height. "I can handle myself. Go make sure everything is ready for the ritual…" He squinted at the boy. "I won't tolerate any mistakes."

Leo nodded and hurried out of the tent, rushing through the bustling crowd towards where Gale and Tor were arranging the sacrifice.

Ethron watched him go and shuffled alone out of the tent, feeling the sun hit him. He squinted from the glare reflecting off the rocks, shielding his eyes with a hand. The old man glanced around, taking a deep breath before diving into the throng of gathered people.

There must have been well over a hundred, all of them chatting and trading with friends and, in some cases, even family who they hadn't seen in years. Not every tribe attended every gathering, and often, friends spent far longer than they would have liked without seeing each other. As a result, gatherings such as this were always packed with tear-filled singing and excited chatter.

In the midst of this crowd of joyous reunions, Ethron was left adrift, washed to and fro by sweeping tides of people. He kept his head down and ignored the ache in his back, focusing on each individual step he took before worrying about whether he’d be able to make the next one.

Finally, he managed to break out of the congregation and shuffled back towards his tent. On the way, he passed through the Karak's camp, observing the many empty tents. Every person he passed he knew by name, he knew their life story, he knew their aspirations. If pressed, he could probably tell you more about them than they knew about themselves. After all, he was their leader.

Ethron greeted a few of his hunters as they passed by, doing his best to raise himself up. The men nodded back solemnly, continuing on to the growing trade centre at the mountaintop.

Sweat beaded on the old man's brow by the time he reached his tent, and his knees and hips scratched and clicked like the rusty cogs in an abandoned machine. He could feel every mile he'd ever walked on those legs. It was like every step he'd ever taken was a debt he'd incurred, and now, he was paying that back in full.

Halfway to his tent, Ethron paused, noticing a figure sitting by the entrance.

It was her.

The hag.

He drew himself up and made a go at storming over to her. "What do you think you're doing here!?" he bellowed in a raspy, dry voice that sounded more breathless than he would have liked.

Fran turned to look up at him, and her face gave him pause. The lines and marks were twisted in a melancholic expression that looked off coming from her.

"Fran?" Ethron came up short, stopping a few feet from the old woman. Her eyes were dark and sunken, sleepless even. "What's wrong? Did one of your evil rituals go awry again?"

She looked up at him blankly, blinking a few times before speaking. "Oh, come now," she mumbled. "There's no one else here…" She gestured to the empty tents; everyone had left to see old friends and trade. "You don't have to pretend to be tough when it's just me…"

For the first time since the day began, Ethron's mask slipped. His jaw clenched, and a vein stood out on his forehead. "Listen, you old-"

Fran rolled her eyes. "Can’t we just drop the posturing for a moment? You don't expect me to believe you're not as tired as I am, right?"

Ethron paused and sighed… "No… I suppose not…" He slowly shuffled over to her, sitting down by her side.

The pair sat in awkward silence as Ethron wondered why she had come. "Did you need something?"

Fran went to speak, but he interrupted her. "Nothing Bo-related. My word on that is final… although it gives me no pleasure."

"You had me fooled…" she muttered, clenching her hands together before continuing. "I-I don't really need anything. It's just… I've-" She grasped for the words. “I’m so tired… so very tired…”

"And?" Ethron squinted at her. "When has that ever stopped you before?"

Fran looked down at her feet. "I suppose it hasn't… But when will I… when can I finally rest?"

"When you're dead." Ethron's cold reply didn't even elicit a reaction from her.

"I thought as much," she muttered. "Then there's nothing else to do but walk… forever…"

"That's all there's ever been." Ethron stared at her. "No use complaining about it."

She gazed up at the cloudless sky and seemed to get lost in thought, her eyes glazing over. "It didn't used to be like this, you know. There were cities once, houses made from trees and ships the size of mountains that floated on water deeper than the sky is tall."

Ethron looked at her sadly. "But what's the use knowing that? Only to make yourself suffer more? Only to be tormented by the fruit we cannot eat on the trees we've never seen?"

"Have never and will never are two very different things," she said, smiling wanly. "The world won't always be this way. It doesn't have to."

The old man laughed wearily, more like the exhaling of air from a burst balloon than anything of joy. "Ha… how will it change? How can it?"

"Bo," Fran muttered.

"Pardon?"

"I said, Bo."

Ethron frowned. "I thought I told you not to ask me for help finding him."

"No, you're not understanding me," Fran said with a shake of her head. "Bo will change the world; I can feel it."

Ethron looked at her strangely. "Are you alright?"

But Fran ignored him, staring blankly at the horizon. The whole desert stretched out below fox mountain, and it was as though she were trying to catch a glimpse of Bo with that stare. As though he might crest a distant hill, a silhouette in the shadow of fox mountain.

"He will change the world," she said stubbornly.

"He's dead."

Fran looked up at Ethron and smiled. "No. He isn't."