The crab would be enough to feed the tribe for weeks.

The tribe had a feast that night. It was similar to the first night he spent with the Kode, but it was a smaller affair. Before, all the different groups of Kode were present. Tonight, it was just Kennet's tribe. Clan? He still didn't know the intricacies as well as he probably should've.

After they had gotten it to camp at sunset, the entire tribe worked to prepare the crab for the feast that night. One of the giant pots he had seen before was filled with cactus water, the crab was lowered into the pot, and a lid was placed over the top. Kenna was in charge of the fire tonight, the place her father usually occupied.

Speaking of Kenna, tonight was the first time he'd seen her without her armor. She had clearly inherited her father's build, but now she wore more traditional clothing. The short skirt and breastplate had been replaced by a dress that extended halfway down her shins, with sleeves that billowed around her elbows. Her usually wild ponytail had been woven into what looked almost like a crown of flame. It framed her face beautifully, her solid features seeming softer in the firelight because of it.

The Chief was sat next to him, discussing with some of the older Kode about where they were to head next. Various plateaus, sand basins, and the coast were all mentioned, with the only one to be shot down immediately being to head east toward the mountains. It would bring them too close to orc territory, and while not normally hostile themselves, the worms the orcs hunted were capable of swallowing the biggest of the Kode's lobsters whole.

At some point the talk stopped, and Beck realized he'd been staring at Kenna. The Chief was facing him now, a smile on his face that reminded him of Pa. The thought almost made him miss the question. "What do you think of her, son?"

Beck blinked at the query. "Sorry?"

"My daughter. How'd she do?"

Beck made an 'Ah' face, then nodded. "I can't say much, but she seems like a great hunter. Took charge pretty well. I almost thought she died rushing the crab, but she came out just fine."

Kennet nodded at what his words, a hand on his clean-shaven chin. "She ran directly into the flame?" Beck nodded. "Her control's getting better, then." The big man laughed at the confused look that twisted Beck's features.

Once he calmed down a bit, he laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "That was part of her test, son. A Chief's control over the flame has to be as close to perfect as can be. Charging the crab like that's the perfect way to demonstrate that control. [Control Flames] helps, of course, but there's a difference between skills and Skills. Just because two people have the same level in a Skill, doesn't mean that they would put out the same quality."

Chief Kennet sighed, and the fatherly look left his face. "But, one of the boys got hurt. He's fine now, thankfully, but its my responsibility to ask around about it." The hand on his shoulder squeezed. "So tell me straight, son; was it her fault, or was it just an accident?"

Beck felt the temperature drop with his last question. He gulped, then opened his mouth. "I don't think it was her fault, sir. The crab moved and P'tah just got caught in it. Honestly, he's lucky it knocked him down. I don't think he'd still be with us if he'd stayed standing." The popping sounds of Ignan were still alien to his mouth, no matter how many times he made them.

The pressure on his shoulder relented, and the smile returned to the Chief's face. "That's good to hear, son. Don't think I'd be able to take it if it was her fault." The big man retracted his hand and stood, heaving out a deep sigh as he did. "I still have to ask the other boys, but its mostly a formality."

With that, Chief Kennet left, going around to the different groups sitting around their clearing. Some of the Kode who had nothing better to do were going around and taking down tents, therefore making more room for the tribe to gather in. The only tent left standing was the one that currently housed the cooks.

While the Chief made his way around the camp, Beck took the time to take in the rest of the camp as it was. The people who had saved him, welcomed him into their family. They could never replace what he had lost, fill the void he had been trying so hard to ignore, but they were something.

His eyes fell to his lap. He thought he'd grieved, that the pain would ease with time. But here, now that he was officially one of the Kode, he could only think about who he'd lost. Not just his parents; everyone he'd ever known had lived in Sandwood. And now they were gone. He could hope that some people had survived, held out long enough that the shamblers moved on. But it was more than likely that everyone he had ever known and loved was dead.

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It was all he could do to keep himself from bursting into tears right then and there. He felt the wet heat well up in his eyes, his lungs attempting to empty themselves. Deep breaths kept the sobs at bay, and while a few tears rolled down his cheeks, he was able to keep his face schooled.

No one mentioned the slight redness in his eyes that night.

When the Chief finished his rounds, having spoken to all the families whose children had attended the hunt, he returned and sat next to Beck and who the young man had gathered by now to be his advisors. They continued their discussions, but Beck couldn't keep track of whatever they were saying. The tears had faded, but his mood was no brighter. Now, the grief warred with his gratitude toward the Kode and his being alive.

They both felt like betrayals, in a way. Part of him said he should've died that day, gone to Magir with everyone else, but another demanded he make good on every day he had been gifted. Still another just wanted him to withdraw into himself, to cut everyone off and never leave his little tent again. That one was easier to push away, but not by much.

A few minutes later, Beck opened his eyes and turned his face to the sky. The moon was rising, half full, into the starry sky. He had never taken the time to actually appreciate them, but now he found himself searching the inky depths between them like he would find something. He didn't, but the time spent on it dried his eyes.

By the time he had recovered, the crab was being pulled from its pot, the chains used to drag it up causing cracks in the shell. Once the crab was lowered onto the sheet prepared for it, the cooks bust it open and started extracting meat. Beck stood as Kenna began to walk toward the circle, making his way to where to boiled beast lay.

The large woman gave him a wide smile as she passed. He returned the gesture, but it still felt fragile. He could only hope she hadn't noticed the twitching of his lips. Once he had his bowl of crab, he returned to his seat at the Chief's left hand side. Kenna had taken her position to his right, and the contrast between the two towering figures and his own compact frame would almost be laughable.

If he hadn't started picking up on grumblings from the Chief's advisors, that is. As it was, he apparently occupied a spot reserved for his most senior advisor. The man who likely should have been sitting there was, consequently, trying to kill him with his eyes. But Kennet ignored it anytime they brought it up, or simply mentioned his family's contributions to the tribe.

Of course, the elders never said this when they thought he could hear them, but they didn't wait long after they thought he was out of earshot to begin their complaints. A benefit of a higher Wisdom, maybe?

He remembered then that he'd leveled from the crab. How his contribution warranted that much, he had no idea, but he would welcome it all the same. He decided to put one each into Dexterity and Constitution, to bring his numbers up to an even sixteen and fourteen, respectively. Now only Strength stood at an odd number, his only gain in it being from [Pugilism]. Not a Skill he wanted to engage very often.

After all the food was eaten and everything else was cleaned and packed away, everyone went off to their own tents for the night. Beck was left alone, all the flames extinguished aside from those carried by the night guard.

He stared up and the night sky, laying on the ground in front of his tent. The moon stared back, its pockmarked surface indifferent to the unfortunate souls below. Another hour of trying to glean meaning from the heavens before he crawled back into his tent. The emotions that had overtaken him before dinner had never subsided; he had simply pushed them down, forcing himself not to feel them. Just as he had been doing, every night after his first.

The growth had helped to block out the pain, but now, he couldn't help but realize just how empty it all felt. Now, when he was alone and no one else could see him, he let his grief wash over him. A month of pent-up emotion crashed into him like a wave, and multiple times that night, he felt as if he would asphyxiate. He had buried his face in his other set of clothes in an attempt to muffle the sound as much as possible, so as not to wake anyone nearby.

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He found himself back in his interior when he woke.

The water no longer choked the breath from him, though it was still hard to push through his gills. His Skills were etched into the walls of the space, each giving off their own distinct chime, before the sound merged into a melody near the center. He didn't go to any of them, though.

He simply floated in the middle, basking in the newfound power he had amassed, even if it was nothing compared to anyone he had met that was even his age. It would be enough. It had to be.

His resolve firmed, his eyes drifted upward. He considered sending a prayer, but he didn't even know who he'd send it to. Linala? Magir? Someone else? Who, then? Linala was the sovereign of all things war and conflict, while Magir was the one in charge of making sure those that died stayed that way. Both, maybe?

Either way, he had no idea if they'd even care enough to do anything for him. The Archangels presence this far east was comparatively weak compared to the chokehold they had on the mainland. Magir's priests were the main force combatting the Grim Riders, but he wasn't exactly interested in joining their number.

No, he'd have to do it on his own. Maybe he could get Deputized if he played his cards right. [First Aid] would fuse with [Shape Water] to make [Healing Hands]. That was the one piece of Skill information his Ma had ever taught him, trying to convince him to be a priest. But it was also the main Skill necessary to be recognized as a Deputy.

Once he had established his foundations a little more, it wouldn't hurt to try out, at least. Then he could go after Bolthead. Then he could have justice. And some other poor kid would never have to go through what he had.