Jo slammed the mug down, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “That’s another one for me!” she announced, tearing off a piece of brown bread and popping it into her mouth triumphantly.
“Damn!” Leif gasped, droplets of beer dribbling down his beard. “One more?”
“It’s your funeral.” She shrugged.
Sakrattars watched with a frown, nettled by the whole affair. The table was covered in discarded mugs and snacks, but the area in front of him was conspicuously clear. “May I remind you that we need that money?” he scowled.
“Bah, I’m not going to drink fifty gold’s worth of beer,” Jo said, waving dismissively.
“You might with me.” Leif slapped the table and laughed, sending the plates rattling. Sakrattars rolled his eyes. “Come on, fancy elf, have some fun.” He swung an arm around his shoulder.
“I think I’ll be heading to bed,” Sakrattars said, brushing Leif’s hand off with contempt. He’d rather read over the sound of Kaja’s softly trilling snores than spend another moment soberly watching Leif and Jo drink away their earnings. He rose to leave, wondering why he had ever agreed to come down in the first place—then stopped short, narrowly avoiding an elderly woman in his path.
“Pardon, ma’am,” he apologized. When the woman didn’t move, he continued uneasily, “can I help you?”
“Excuse me, young man,” the woman said quietly, politely pushing past him. “Dame triarius,” she said to Jo, “are you the one who found the Dominus’ seal?”
Sakrattars bristled. It had been a few days since the party had returned the seal and word had spread very quickly of a natiuhan who not only tracked down the missing item, but heroically disposed of the offenders. He had heard people gossiping about it in the market and was irked when there was no mention of her equally gallant companions.
“I am,” Jo replied simply.
“Oh good.” The woman relaxed. “They told me that I might be able to find you here. My name is Camilla, I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, it’s my son . . .” Camilla paused, her shoulders shaking. She gasped breathlessly, then swooned. Sakrattars caught her and Jo guided the elderly woman to her seat. “Thank you,” she said once she regained her composure. Despite the summer heat, she pulled her long, woolen tunic close.
“Your son?” Leif prompted gently.
Camilla nodded. “Yes, his name is Astinos. He left home a few weeks ago to collect a bounty on some bandits. He hasn’t returned.” For a moment, they thought she would be overcome again but she calmed herself.
“Was he a bounty hunter?” Leif asked.
“No, but he was no stranger to a fight. He used to go on all sorts of adventures with his friends.” Camilla smiled at the memory. “But around a year ago, he came back home to live with me. Please, I’m begging you to help me find him. He’s the only family I have left. I will pay you, of course.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a simple necklace with a gold locket. “Please accept it.” Camilla held it out on an open palm.
Jo looked at the necklace, her expression unreadable, then gingerly curled the old woman’s gnarled fingers back around it.
“I’ll find your son,” she said solemnly, “but I can’t accept that.”
“Oh.” Camilla bit her lip. “I’m short on coin at the moment but if I can find a buyer at the market tomorrow—”
“No. No payment.”
Sakrattars coughed, interrupting Camilla’s stammering gratitudes. They couldn’t well afford to be taking jobs for free. “What about the city watch?” he asked. “Haven’t they gone to search for him?”
“They’re too busy trying to keep order here, with all the robberies lately,” Camilla sighed dejectedly. “I’ve tried appealing to the Dominus but they don’t have the time or men to spare right now. I’d lost hope until I heard about you, and I thought that if anyone could find Astinos . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Do you know where Astinos went?” Sakrattars pressed.
“The bounty was for a troop of bandits living in the forest northeast of here. They were causing problems on the road from Balthissica.”
“Sounds about right,” he reflected wryly. Balthissica was well-known as one of the most politically chaotic places in Calthia, a haven for raiders and other lawless folk. It was a reputation that only worsened after the recent civil war of neighboring Ascalaria further destabilized the region. “Is that all you know?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry,” Camilla said, her eyes downcast. Jo rubbed her back tenderly, shooting Sakrattars an icy glare. But despite Jo’s disapproval of what she no doubt interpreted as heartless disregard for an old woman’s feelings, Sakrattars still had to consider the situation pragmatically. If this Astinos had been gone for weeks like his mother claimed then he was in all likelihood dead, and Sakrattars didn’t like the idea of going to a dangerous place with dangerous people to look for a dead man. Especially not for free.
“Go home and get some rest,” Leif urged, squeezing Camilla’s hand sympathetically. “We’ll leave in the morning to find your son.”
Sakrattars pursed his lips. Yet in the end he’d have to go with, of course. There was no other option. If they didn’t return—specifically, if Kaja didn’t return—then he would be missing out on his big academic chance.
*
*
The day was bright and clear, with blue skies and radiant sun. A refreshing breeze kissed the trees and rustled the tall grasses, carrying with it the faint smell of blooming flowers and freshly cut fields. But the beautiful weather couldn’t distract Sakrattars from the anxiety churning away in his gut.
The road to Balthissica was one of rolling hills, vast farmland, and sparse forest. Though it was once a major thoroughfare a hundred years ago, the road was rarely used by simple travelers anymore. Indeed, its current use was mainly in the occasional export of Imperial troops from Aurelia, though there were no troops on the road today. The sense of solitude and tranquility only set Sakrattars further on edge.
“I met Amale in Balthissica,” Leif said, feeling the need to fill the lull with conversation. “We both served in the auxilia there a few years back. Dirty business.” He shook his head, his easy-going smile hardening at the memory. Amale made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sniff, one of his ears flicking twice. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to add anything else to the story, Leif continued. “Dirty business,” he repeated. “I don’t suppose you ever made it out there?”
“No, never did,” Jo replied. “The Empire mostly commissioned my Oceteya for Datharia.” Sakrattars perked at this. If Jo had been enrolled in an Oceteya, schools that taught young natiuhans the traditional art of war, then her warrior’s dress and hairstyle were not just for show. But this merely deepened Jo’s mystery. If she was truly a member of this famously respected, but infamously rigid, order of warriors, then the fact that she was now acting on her own as Kaja’s guardian was even more puzzling. Natiuhan warriors never acted alone. They were hardly ever seen alone.
Leif was simpler. Sharing exactly none of Sakrattars’ uncertainties, he whistled, impressed by such a casual admission of greatness. “Gods. Must have been wild out there,” he marveled. “It doesn’t surprise me that the Emperor would want nothing less than natiuhan warriors up there though, with the orcs and the ferix always causing trouble.” Leif paused, twisting a lock of his beard thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I’ve heard that an orcish warlord has been sweeping the Steppes, recruiting the strong and killing the rest. Hasn’t turned his sights on Datharia yet but I’m sure the Emperor isn’t too happy with it. Bet your buddies at the Oceteya are going to have their hands full.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Jo shrugged. Sakrattars squinted, waiting for an elaboration that never came. Mysteries upon mysteries.
“Well, come on now!” Leif laughed, clapping a hand on Jo’s back. “I bet you’ve got tons of stories to share with us!”
Losing interest in war stories, Sakrattars turned his attention to Kaja. He had come to learn that throwing sounds was not the only magic trick she could do. She could freeze her food with a gentle breath, and sometimes the condensation on her cup would turn to frost after she held it. He came to the conclusion that she must have a natural ice affinity. It was reminiscent of the stories he read about dragons; both white dragons and silver dragons were said to wield ice magic. Unfortunately, his attempts to get Kaja to help him understand left much to be desired. She either didn’t understand his questions, or was unwilling to answer them. Perhaps a little of both.
“So if we run into trouble out here . . .” Sakrattars started in Draconic, encouraging Kaja to finish his sentence.
“I use magic,” Kaja mumbled unenthusiastically. She tugged at her hood, uncomfortable in the heat but unable to risk exposing her horns.
“Yes. Just like when you freeze your food.”
“But I don’t want to freeze people.”
“No one does,” Sakrattars said, “but it could be helpful if you need to protect yourself.”
Kaja lowered her gaze, the hood hiding her face. “I don’t want to.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to? You may have to.”
This time Kaja didn’t reply at all. Sakrattars sighed. At the first sign of danger, Jo would assign him to watch her and then it would be up to him to defend her. If she already knew magic, why was she so resistant to using it? Was he expecting too much of her?
Amale raised a paw, signaling the party to halt. He inspected a game trail leading off the road and sniffed the air, catching a scent on the breeze. They were close. Veering into a grove, Amale combed the path for traps while Jo brought up the rear looking out for a possible ambush. By the time the road was out of sight, Sakrattars noticed that the world had gone quiet. Birds didn’t chirp, insects didn’t buzz. An eerie shiver traveled up his spine.
Before long, the companions came upon a cluster of crude huts built within the mossy ruins of ancient walls and cracked foundations.
“This looks like a Balthissican-campaign era outpost,” Sakrattars commented, trying in vain to get a better look at the stonework. He frowned when he saw that someone had chipped away at the faded remains of a mosaic bearing the Imperial golden dragon. “Some people have no respect for history,” he huffed.
“I’m more worried about the houses,” Leif said. “What are there? Five? Six?”
“Only one fire.” Amale pointed to a single wisp of smoke rising from a gap in the roof of one of the huts. “Wait here.” Without a sound, he crept forward into the campsite. His ears were raised, swiveling this way and that. He closed his eyes, his nose twitching and bushy tail swaying as he processed the information his senses were giving him. He looked back to where the rest of the party was lying in wait and made a few curt gestures.
“Only one guy,” Leif whispered, interpreting the signal. “Everyone else must be out.”
“Then we better hurry before they come back,” Jo urged, standing up.
“Remember: we need him alive,” Sakrattars reminded her.
“Yeah, yeah. You just be sure to draw his attention.”
Sakrattars’ jaw dropped open. “M-me?”
“Well, I’m not going to ask Kaja to do it.”
“I can do it,” Kaja whispered helpfully.
“No, no,” Sakrattars said, “I’ll do it.” Kaja had already shown him up once before, and his pride wasn’t going to allow it to happen again.
The lone bandit, an elf, was seated on a log, one hand holding up his chin and the other lazily nursing a large stew pot over the campfire. But despite his unguarded manner, his weapons were propped up within reach.
Sakrattars slowly made his way to the opposite side of the camp, pushing increasingly irate assessments of the damage being done to the millennium old ruins out of his mind. What was he going to do to distract the bandit? Ten years of schooling at the University of Barsicum and he was reduced to conjuring up distractions! It would all be worth it, he assured himself, once he published his study on the zmaj—possibly the first of its kind. But first, he had to focus.
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“Alright Bartholomew, this is where you come in,” he said, placing the toad on the ground with a wet plop. Bartholomew blinked one yellow eye then the other. “Go on, then!” Sakrattars goaded. Bartholomew hopped forward clumsily. He was now within the bandit’s sight. It was a genius plan, who would suspect a toad hopping through a grove?
Then Bartholomew stopped abruptly, turning his head to one side.
“No, no, no,” Sakrattars whispered desperately. “Bartholomew! Keep going! Bartholomew!” But it was no use, his familiar was captivated by some insect wiggling in the detritus. He struck out with his fleshy, pink tongue, missing once then twice. As Sakrattars watched helplessly, he spotted Jo across the campsite gesturing angrily at him. Frustrated, he stood up, back to the tree trunk, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Help me, brother!” he cried out in Elvish, feeling foolish as he did so. “Help me!”
The elf raised his head, confused, but by the time he thought to grab his weapon, Jo was already upon him. She twisted his arm behind his back and pinned him to the ground while Leif bound his hands together.
Jo scoffed. “That’s your idea of a distraction?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Sakrattars retorted defensively.
“You can take whatever you want, just let me go,” the elf begged from beneath Leif’s knee. His voice had the light, airy accent characteristic of elves from Aurea.
“We don’t want your stolen goods,” Jo said, picking the elf up off the ground and onto his feet. “We’re looking for someone.”
The elf discreetly tested the rope but couldn’t wrestle free.
“I’m from Stjornugaard, I learned to tie sailing knots before I could walk.” Leif chuckled. “I’d love to see you get out of that.”
The bandit scowled. “What makes you think I know this person you’re looking for?”
“He came by not too long ago looking for bounties. A human from Orium by the name of Astinos,” Sakrattars said. The elf glared at him.
“Never heard of him, brother,” he sneered. “We run into a lot of those types.”
“Too bad.” Jo shrugged. “We only needed you alive to help find him. We can still collect the bounty on you if you’re dead.”
At this, the elf hesitated. “Look, I don’t know the names of everyone who comes looking for us. Too many to remember.”
“This man would have been alone. Unusual, correct?” Sakrattars asked.
“Not as unusual as you might think. But”—the bandit added hastily when Jo stepped closer—“but, we have a place. A place where we . . . dispose of things.”
“Dispose of people, you mean,” Leif corrected darkly. Kaja gripped Sakrattars’ robes, unsettled by the direction the conversation was taking.
“If you want to call it that,” the elf said. “If you let me go, I can show you where.”
Jo pushed him forward. “Show us and we’ll consider it.”
The bandit grudgingly led the party through the grove to a small cave in one of the limestone hills. They couldn’t see far past the jagged mouth but there appeared to be a gentle slope followed by a steep drop off into darkness.
“This is the place,” the bandit announced.
Sakrattars peered into the mouth, watching water droplets run down hanging vines and glistening stalactites. The stone was dangerously slick.
“We’ll need to go in,” Jo said.
Sakrattars glanced at her in surprise. “Why? Look at the slope, no one could crawl back out without help.”
“I told Camilla I’d find her son and I intend to do so.”
“There’s no way he’s alive, Jo.”
“You better listen to your friend,” the bandit interjected. “Although if you want to get yourself killed then I suppose I don’t mind.”
“Shut it!” Jo gave the rope a quick tug and the bandit stumbled backwards.
“I can secure a rope here so we can climb out,” Leif suggested, already scouting the area for suitable anchor points. Sakrattars still didn’t like the plan but he knew any further protest would just fall on deaf ears.
Once the escape ropes were in place and tested, the bandit spoke up again. “I showed you the place, keep your end of the deal.” He bumped his wrists against the small of his back.
“You’re coming with us,” Jo said sternly. “One whiff of a trap and you’re gone.”
The elf gulped, looking at her and then down into the cave. “There’s no trap,” he said. “It’s dangerous enough without them.”
“Yeah? Well now you get to experience what your victims felt. Come on,” Jo said, picking the elf up bodily and throwing him over her shoulder—to his surprise and dismay.
One at a time they rappelled down the ropes. The drop off wasn’t as dramatic as it had appeared on the outside but it would still trap the unfortunate if they didn’t have the proper equipment. Upon reaching the bottom, Kaja gave a strangled gasp, clutching Sakrattars’ robes and backing away from the darkness beyond.
“What, what’s wrong?” he asked. He reached into a pocket, thumbing a smooth quartz and mumbling a few words of magic. Four glowing orbs flickered to life around him, the red light illuminating a grisly scene of death.
Skeletons, many still swathed in cheap leather armor or tattered clothes, lined the sides of the cave—poor souls that did not survive the fall or died of their injuries while waiting in vain for someone to rescue them. Sakrattars stayed with Kaja while the others set to the grim task of searching the bodies. Fortunately, none of the corpses matched the description that Camilla had provided them.
“By Orvim, look at this,” Leif gasped in wonder, lifting up a one-handed battle axe. He wiped the grime away to reveal a soft blue glow emanating from the fine metal.
“It’s magical,” Sakrattars confirmed upon examination.
“What does it do?”
“I’m not entirely sure, perhaps it’s just luminous.”
Leif admired the weapon, trying out a few test swings. “I like this axe.”
“He won’t need it anymore,” Amale said gruffly, gesturing to the decaying skeleton of the former owner. Leif looked somewhat put off by the comment but neither did he want to just leave such a fine weapon to rot. He placed the axe against the skeleton’s chest for a moment and whispered a prayer of last respects, before lifting it and hurrying after his companions.
As they journeyed further into the cave, the passage opened up until finally they reached a large cavernous chamber. It was eerily silent, with the occasional rhythmic drip of water the only sound to accompany the party’s shuffling footfalls. The still air was so chilly that Amale drew up his hood and rubbed his arms, his short, coarse fur providing little protection against the cold.
“Whoever you’re looking for can’t have made it this far,” the bandit pleaded nervously. He had been reluctantly stumbling along ever since Jo placed him back down, often needing a rough prod or a shove to keep him walking. “Maybe he wasn’t even here in the first place. Maybe you got the wrong information.”
“Quiet!” Jo snapped.
“What’s that?” Kaja asked softly, pointing into the darkness beyond the magical orb’s glow.
“Where?” Sakrattars squinted. As an elf, he was accustomed to having the best night vision in any given group. But even with his sharp eyesight, he couldn’t see what Kaja was looking at.
Sakrattars sent one of the orbs to probe ahead, with the party moving cautiously behind it. Within moments, it became clear what Kaja had seen. In the shelter of a group of stalagmites, glowing ominously in the crimson light, was a lump of cloth and what appeared to be a pack.
Yet, Sakrattars’ first thought was of Kaja. Her vision was remarkable, comparable to the underground-dwelling kobolds—or their dragon relatives.
But before he could process his discovery further, a sharp yelp reverberated off the walls.
Amale was floating off the ground, being drawn up towards the ceiling by a seemingly invisible force. He cried out as he struggled to free himself from the strange, silk-like binding that had ensnared him. In the sudden confusion, the bandit yanked the rope out of Jo’s hand and ran frantically back the way they had come, disappearing beyond the light. He didn’t get far before the party heard his terrified scream from the darkness.
Jo grabbed Amale, trying to pull him back down; but the other side kept reeling in the line, turning Amale into the unwilling object in a tug of war match. He whined in fear and panic.
“Cut the line!” Leif yelled, desperately reaching up to grab his friend.
“Can’t . . . reach it!” Jo said, her voice straining. She wasn’t used to something being as strong as she was, and she did not like it.
Amale twisted, trying to reach for one of the many knives tucked away in his clothing, but the binding held him fast. He couldn’t move. He looked up just as the light of one of the orbs illuminated what had captured him. His eyes widened and he yelped in terror.
Without warning, a gust of freezing snow shot past the companions. Kaja clenched a fist and the line instantly rimed over, then exploded into dozens of frozen shards that fell to the ground in a sparkling cascade, gleaming like embers in the magical red light. Jo caught Amale, cutting him free from the remaining webbing, while Sakrattars expanded the orbs’ radius to search for the hidden assailant.
To their horror, a giant scorpion-like creature was clinging to the ceiling above them. A second one was scuttling away into a crevice, the unlucky bandit in its clutches.
With its lure cut, the creature descended the walls with frightening speed and charged the party. Without a moment of hesitation, Jo jumped between everyone else and the beast, grabbing one of its claws and bringing down a fist onto its head. Its carapace was tough and deflected the blow, however, and although Jo’s cestus protected her hand from the brunt of the impact, she still winced with pain. She could feel the skin around her arrow wound straining and threatening to reopen. She wouldn’t be able to hold it back for long.
Then it retaliated, its other claw latching around her ankle. She growled ferociously as it yanked her—hard—trying to upend her on the slippery rock. If it got her on her back, those razor-sharp mandibles would make short work of her.
Leif rushed forward with a yell and landed a strike with his new axe. A sound like wet timber hitting stone echoed through the chamber. The beast released Jo and lunged a claw toward Leif—who managed to raise his shield just in time to hear it thunk loudly off the wood. Knocked back by the blow, he fell to the ground with a curse. Scuttling impossibly fast, the beast was on him in moments, its ready mandibles gleaming in the red light of the orbs.
But just when he thought he’d met his end, an arrow whizzed past Leif’s head and sank deep into the exposed flesh around the creature’s mouth. It recoiled back with an angry hiss. Leif stumbled, trying to regain his footing and raise his shield at the same time. He accomplished neither particularly well.
“Aim for the joints!” Amale barked, reaching for another arrow. Leif didn’t need to be told twice. He swung his axe again, this time at one of the creature’s spindly legs, but by doing so he unbalanced himself on the slick floor and fell to his knees. Jo’s cestus-clad fist slammed into the back of the axe head with a metallic clang, driving the blade deep into the joint. There was a sickening crunch followed by a loud chittering as blue blood spattered onto the cave floor. The beast broke free from Jo’s grasp, retreating into the darkness. It crawled up the wall and disappeared into a narrow crack.
“I don’t think it’s coming back,” Sakrattars sighed in relief. Amale placed a paw on Kaja’s shoulder, nodding a silent thank you. She smiled back timidly.
The danger gone, the party was able to inspect the remains. There wasn’t a body but the cloak and the pack matched Astinos’. Leif opened the bag, looking for anything that might help explain what happened. It contained what one would expect to see: rations that were long since spoiled, a medicine kit, flint. Then he spotted a folded paper. As Leif drew it out, a ring fell, clattering onto the stone. Kaja picked it up and examined it by the light.
Leif unfolded the paper, eyes scanning the page. His expression turned somber.
“What does it say?” Sakrattars asked.
“It’s addressed to someone named Lucretia in Barsicum, dated three weeks ago,” Leif said, clearing his throat before he went on to read the note aloud. “‘I’ve found myself injured and alone with no hope of rescue. It’s only a matter of time before they find me so I fear I will not survive this. My dearest Lucretia, I understand and I’m sorry.’” He paused as the weight of the words sunk in. “Astinos must have been an extraordinary man to last that long alone,” he marveled quietly.
“He survived the fall. He survived down here but no one came to help in time.” Jo thought of Camilla, waiting for them in Orium for news of her son who would never come home. “Damn it!” she swore.
“He knew those monsters were hunting him but he couldn’t escape,” Sakrattars murmured, imagining with a shudder the horror that Astinos must have felt in his final days. Without the ability to see in the dark, he’d have been surrounded by hidden predators, his only company the hissing chitters they uttered while hunting him. Sakratters shivered.
Kaja closed her fingers around the ring in her palm, her expression a mix of sadness and regret. But there was something else there too, something Sakrattars could swear looked like guilt.
*
*
Camilla listened to the party’s story, sitting motionless in a wooden chair with a thin, knit blanket spread across her lap. The companions crowded her small apartment, which consisted of little more than a central room and kitchen with a bedroom hidden behind a drape nailed to the doorway. When they finished their tale, the corners of Camilla’s lips turned up in a sad smile, her gray-blue eyes distant and unfocused.
“I knew something must have happened.” She shook her head. “He was such a devoted boy, he would never leave without telling me.”
“I’m truly sorry.” Leif held Camilla’s hand in his own. He offered her the note. “This is the last thing Astinos wrote.”
Camilla opened it and read, tears filling the soft creases of her crow’s feet. Kaja gently placed the ring in her lap. The old woman trembled as she picked it up. “Lucretia was his childhood friend, and later one of his traveling partners. There were two others too . . .” She closed her eyes wistfully. “Ah yes, their names were Bandrigan and Feriel. He would talk about them all the time when they were young and finding their way in the world. Astinos’ heart belonged to Lucretia. She should be the one to keep the ring and his letter.” Camilla tucked the ring into the paper and folded it back up. “I know you’ve already done so much but could I ask you to see that Lucretia gets this?”
Jo and Sakrattars exchanged looks. Lucretia was all the way back in Barsicum—they would need to abandon their current plan of heading to Aurea and backtrack if they accepted. Kaja lightly touched Jo’s arm and nodded.
“We will.” Jo took back the letter.
“Thank you.” Camilla suddenly looked very tired. “I’m sorry, but I wish to be alone now.”
Leif squeezed the woman’s hand one more time and then got up to leave.
The companions walked together through the humid night, their eyes fixed on the cobblestones, each one lost in their own thoughts. The streets of Orium were deserted save for the occasional carouser or dog nosing through scraps just outside of the warm glow of the oil lamps. One of the Dominus’ personal guards picked up someone who had engaged in too much merriment and hauled him off to the dungeon to sober up. Though dark, the air was still hot and thick and more stifling than usual.
Jo broke the silence. “You don’t need to come with us,” she said, looking over at Leif and Amale.
“We know,” Leif said quietly. Amale said nothing, but glanced her way, both ears pointed directly at her. Jo nodded in understanding.
No one else spoke after that.
Since it was so late and the mood far too heavy for the usual drinking games, the companions went their separate ways. Kaja tossed and turned in bed, listening as Jo’s then Sakrattars’ breathing became soft and regular. Unable to sleep, she propped herself up against the headboard and stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance in the moonlight. What were Astinos’ thoughts in the end? What were his regrets? Kaja allowed these questions to plague her, keeping her from sleep and tightening the painful twist she felt in her chest. Finally, she slid down, pulled the blanket up over her head, and forced her eyes shut.
That night, for the first time in many months, she dreamt of home.