Sitting quietly by the edge of a small fire Vizsha found himself poking the embers trying to coax more heat out of the fungus and dried moss fire that smoldered fitfully in front of him. Giving up on the futile task he began to repack the mostly raw skrat meat he had hung over the fire. He was frustrated knowing that if he hadn't rushed himself and gathered enough of the dried fungus stalks in the valley he wouldn't be in this position.

Thinking back, he was amazed the trip hadn't gone worse. For his first lone hunt in the low valleys, let alone in spring when the low valleys were forbidden, he thought he could have done much worse. He was returning with enough meat, fur, and bone to keep his now reduced family in comfort till spring reached the high valleys and hunting would be much simpler.

Spring never entirely reached the peaks where he had set up camp tonight. A dry hot spell in late summer was the only time of year you would find any of the peaks not capped in snow. And even then, that was the lower peaks. The higher peaks stood perpetually capped in snow, year-round their height resisting any weather that may be affecting the Lowlands. Even great storms knew to bow before the height of the peaks. From up here you could watch the clouds course through the high valleys, swirling like the torrents of a rain swelled spring river. But no matter how it swirled, crashed, or lit the clouds below with flashes of lightning, the storm could not raise itself to the height of the peaks and the peaks weather was the same as every day. Windswept with light snow that blew from below carried by the ever-present wind.

Just thinking about the wind seemed to make it worse Vizsha thought as he finished tying the leather draw straps on the bag filled with skrat meat. Clapping and rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth, he began to set furs against the side of his sled. He never got truly cold with his fireheart beating in his chest, but without shelter in this weather his fingers and toes still grew stiff and painful. Looking at the nest of furs he had laid out they looked inviting as they ever had.

He took the chance to relieve himself a short distance from his sled before wrapping himself in furs and settling in for the night. He covered his eyes with a thick leather strap to keep out the light of the heaven trail. Even in the darkest of nights the heaven trail and it's 3 sister moons lit a man's path bright enough to walk. On a night like tonight where all three moons and the heaven trail were bright in the sky you had to cover your eyes if you wished to sleep at all.

Vizsha found his mind wandering to painfully places but couldn't help himself from worrying, like picking at molting that wasn't ready to shed he knew it wouldn't help but he couldn't stop himself from doing it. He thought about his brother and father's decision to travel to the fort they had found on their last scouting trip to the Lowlands. How could they have not seen that their decision would lead to the loss of three members of his family instead of the inevitable one. Travelling to the lands of these humans to seek their healers and their medicines to save a sick child seemed the brave thing to do but knowing the results now Vizsha wondered if he shouldn't have put his hukar through Hebo's eye the moment his father had suggested the trip. He would have suffered much less... maybe he could have saved his father and brother too... what was he thinking? His brother and father aren't dead. It's only been 93 days... Baba will come home soon... He promised...

Vizsha ran out the flap of his yurt knowing that his father would be riding his sleigh over the rise ahead any moment. He waited for what felt like an eternity passing him by in the briefest of moments, scanning the horizon for the red and white banner his father always flew over his sleigh. Soon or forever later he saw a blur of movement on the horizon, running towards it he found himself there in a few bounds. He could tell that it was once his father's sleigh, but now all that remained was the fire blackened bone runners and foot boards that still seemed as large as they had when he was a child. Stepping up onto the ruined platform he questioned for a second how the sleigh had gotten here without a junsk to pull it, or why the bones were still smoldering when he saw no smoke in the air.

His line of thought was interrupted when he heard the whimpering sobs of a small child coming from a bundle of charred skins he had missed earlier along the back rail of the sleigh. He began walking towards it reaching for his hukar, he paused not finding it on his belt, but the cries still called him forward. As he walked closer, he trembled with fear. Somehow, he knew what was going to be in those skins. "The burnt head of my father is going to be in that bag." he said aloud as he continued to walk the much too long distance between him and the skins. Each step began to slow down and lengthen as he struggled his way forward the skins seemed farther and farther away. Pushing forward, fueled by the need to know exactly what happened to his father he began to sprint and immediately found himself standing over the charred hides. The bundle seemed no larger than a basket but when he picked it up it felt as heavy as a mountain. Turning it over slowly in his hands he found a skin to peel away exposing the item beneath.

Vizsha let out a scream to match that of the screamer eel that jumped from his hands at its earliest convenience, soaring down the mountain swimming through the air as if through water.

A very unique contagious laughter bubbled out from behind him. And despite his fright Vizsha couldn't help but smile. Whipping around Vizsha punched his little brother hard in his arm.

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Smiling he asked "Where did you even get a screamer eel Hebo? They only live in the valley rivers."

"Oh, I think the real question is how are you ever going to live this one down? I swear you jumped twice as high as the last time I got you!" Said the energetic youth.

Vizsha took a moment to really look at him, it couldn't have been very long since he saw him last but looking at him now Vizsha got the feeling he had spent far too long away from his younger brother. He was only a head shorter than him now, spindly but always full of energy, eager to show anyone who would listen the two little bumps poking out of the top of his mane on the back of his head. Small bumps now but promising size for a grand set of horns someday, or so he told anyone who would listen to his constant chatter.

"Viz, buddy, pal, did I scare something loose in your head? Or are you just in a stare-y mood again?" Hebo piped in while walking closer to Vizsha.

Vizsha knew something wasn't right. Where was the sleigh that he had just been standing on? Why was he back in his yurt? Had they already walked home? Just as he began to feel a bubble of anxiety build in his stomach an old wizened hand landed on his shoulder. Looking the way the hand came, he felt a scream building deep in his throat as he recognized the flask the elder handed him. He tried to refuse the flask, but his hands still grabbed it's smooth ivory surface as if his body was under the control of another.

Looking to where Boab pointed he let out a wracked sob as he saw what he had feared. Hebo laid on the floor surrounded by furs and pots of bloody water. The rot had been at him for too long. He hardly looked alive at this point covered in weeping greasy sores exposing much of the scales beneath, Vizsha knew if the leather pasted to his chest were removed, he could see the lung beneath slightly expanding and contacting with each breath Hebo labored. At first they had tried to cover all of the places where his skin had slid off the scales beneath with ointment and oil covered leathers to reduce the pain, but now the rot had spread fully to the scales and in some places the meat beneath. He should not still be alive. Everyone knew that once the rot appears you have days at best before you die. Weeks if someone is stupid enough to prolong your horrible death. Hebo had been sick for months. Somehow, he held on. Maybe it was his indomitable spirit, maybe it was his young healthy body, maybe it was the words of his father whispered in his ear before his departure. Whatever reason it may be Hebo had held on for longer than anyone had the right to, suffering more through his survival then anyone ever should have. But even still Vizsha had kept him alive and with him the hope of his father's return. But with the progression of the disease and how weak Hebo was even Vizsha knew he wouldn't last the night.

"Pour him just a drop. He will heal or he will burn. Either way his suffering will be over." The elder rasped in a near reverent whisper.

The elder’s logic was sensible. It spoke to his need. He looked down on the small form of his baby brother, still a child, but battered to this point he had no question if there was another way to save him. His only chance was the blood.

He dipped his finger into the burning blood of the flask and prayed to the spirit of the god within it.

"Please, if any of your sons deserve your patronage it is Hebo. He is brave and strong. He brings light and life to everyone. He gets on my nerves and never shuts up, but my father said it just means he will be a great speaker one day. If you have any kindness in your fireheart spare my brother and heal him so he may one day worship you."

Vizsha placed his wet red finger in between his brothers chapped lips and stepped back as Hebo's thirsty tongue lapped the red smear off his lips.

Almost immediately Hebo struggled through a deep breath and began to stir. Groaning he began to toss and turn showing more strength than he had in days. His eyes began to flicker beneath their lids as a light grew in his chest.

Falling to his knees weeping Vizsha grabbed the now quickly healing hand of his brother and let the stress and pain of these last few months boil away for just a moment. He had saved his brother. The old gods had listened. His family might still be broken but with the three of them still alive they could make a new family. They could rebuild. Feeling a tightening of his brother’s hand on his he looked up to see his brother’s eyes blinking and unfocused as if he had just woken up.

"Good morning sleepy head. How did you sleep?" Asked Vizsha wiping tears from his face with his good hand.

"Why are you burning me?" Asked Hebo in a small unsure voice.

"Back away Vizsha. The goods choose him to burn." The elder said while pushing the yurt flap open with one hand drinking from a suka skin with the other.

But Vizsha hesitated, not understanding what the elder said. Hebo was getting better, wasn't he?

"Why are you burning me?" Asked Hebo in a more insistent voice sounding more childlike then then he should.

Vizsha looked back to the form of his brother piled in a heap on the floor and balked at the visage looking back at him. Where his eyes used to be now pits of yellow flame yawned. The nubs of horn he had been so proud of grew out of his head at a rate that destroyed his skull in the process splashing steaming brains all over the furs he laid on, but still he opened a mouth full of smoke and screamed "Why are you burning me? Why are you burning me?" over and over even as his tongue caught fire and the flesh of his face charred over, he still screamed. As his chest swole up and burst like a water skin left too close to the fire. As his scales popped from beneath his skin and burst from him in little gouts of flame. As his limbs burst to flame, hands clutching his brothers he screamed, and burned, and healed and screamed.

The scream echoed out into the night as Vizsha frantically unwrapped himself from furs and removed the leather cover over his eyes. He already had his hukar in his hands as he searched the small campsite for the source of the scream. Realizing only after his right hand throbbed that he must have had another nightmare and the source of the scream was himself. He put his hukar away and removed the glove from his right hand. The burn had healed well over the last month but still it pained him whenever he thought about Hebo.

Replacing his glove, he began to break camp knowing he would have no more luck sleeping tonight. The three sisters had already passed through the night sky but Vizsha knew the heaven trail would light his way. Pushing onward he tried to let the feeling of physical exertion and exhaustion distract him from his nightly reliving of his part in his brother’s death. Like most days it wasn't nearly enough