Ezril turned instantly as Takan moved to land a fatal blow, his grip almost releasing his arrow when he stopped short. The blow fell, heralded by a painful howl, all of which were lost to him. He stood, arrow aimed at nothing as he watched Shade where it sat. Blue eyes watching him.

His brothers fought before it and it did nothing but sit and watch him. And he knew why. It’s waiting for me to choose, he thought. Friend or foe.

And with the understanding came the realization that should he let the arrow fly, someone’s death was inevitable. And perhaps more death would follow, as is the way with such deaths. Shaking his head at his stupidity, he relented on the bowstring, letting it retract to place before returning the arrow to its quiver.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?!”

Ezril didn’t raise his voice, he merely spoke, and yet his words carried itself across the distance very easily. At them, both parties stepped away from each other, shocked into stasis. It was strange that they’d heard him in the chaos. At first, they all bore scowls, his brothers’ deeper than the locals, and he understood why. He knew they would never understand what they had just cost him.

He made his way to the ground and approached them, prepared for whatever would come. Olufemi was the first to move. He cut through the thinning mist, ran to Ezril, and hugged him so tight Ezril wondered for a moment if his brother sought to squeeze the life out of him. It was only when his hold relaxed that he heard his brother sobbing. He rubbed Olufemi’s back, his hand stroking gently as he whispered sweet nonsense to him, assuring him that he was not going anywhere. He looked over Olufemi’s shoulder to his brothers and was without surprise to find them still scowling.

His escape from reality was over. It had found him, as it was bound to.

Ezril sat at the entrance of his tent, carving drawings in the sand with a stick piercing through the ocean of dead leaves that blanketed the ground.

Nothing had been said when they’d left the mist, led by a seething Aldorna while Nidas helped the wounded man Ezril had discovered was called Terimoth. A discovery made when his wife rushed out to meet him with a worried visage. The man had long since gone into the care of the healers and Ezril had no doubt he would come out alive. If they could heal me, they can heal anyone.

His brothers were yet to learn of Lenaria’s presence within the tribe, and convicted to keeping it that way, he conceded to answering no questions on the matter of the priestess if they asked. Not that Darvi, who sat opposite him, had resolved to ask any.

When they’d arrived with Shade trailing behind them, the villagers had all but stared at theAtle wolf with unbridled fear. Darvi had requested their brothers give them some privacy, and while Salem and Takan had sought to find a distraction, Olufemi had looked to him, only moving when he’d acknowledged Darvi’s request with a nod.

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“The realm has officially gone to war with the Merdendi,” Darvi finally spoke. “Criver declared it two weeks ago. However, the church has refused to surrender more priestesses, and the bishop stands by the argument that it’s not the seminary’s war.

It might as well be, Ezril thought, but offered only a sound that seemed akin to a grunt.

“They’ve taken the encampment,” Darvi continued, as if he hadn’t expected a coherent response. “They came in the dark of night. The boy from your childhood, what was his name?” he mused without ceremony. “Ah, Alphex. He almost did not make it.” Even his excitement at remembering the king blade’s name seemed feigned and without effort. “A few of the men whisper of Merdendi men unafflicted by pain, and Noem almost lost his arm, if not for the good doctor and Sister Alanna.”

The stick in Ezril’s hand hesitated in its movement at the sister’s name, and Darvi took the chance. “You’ve been gone too long, brother. It’s time to come back. You worried Salem and scared Olufemi. Today is the first day our brother has drawn his Sunders since you went after the priestess…”

The priestess, Ezril thought. The title seemed out of place in his mind now. He’d grown accustomed to having the tribe call her his priestess. It was a reminder that it was time to wake up from his dream, a reminder that reality had returned.

“… all night and day tracking you, refusing to return to battle,” Darvi was saying. “I understand that you and the priestess were close and losing her must have been a painful thing. You needed to mourn, to grieve, and you’ve had more than enough time to do that.”

He thinks her dead, Ezril realized. A realization that came with a sliver of hope. He may not be able to escape the violence of war, but maybe he could spare her its covetous embrace.

“What are you drawing?” There was an edge to Darvi’s voice and Ezril knew his brother’s annoyance at garnering no response had walked its course. “Answer me, brother. This childish act you’ve been displaying is unbecoming of a priest. No less the first bow.” Now, his voice was rising, his temper flaring. “And running alone into a battle field to save a priestess who was already dead was a stupidity beneath even you. It doesn’t matter if you were shagging her. We are your brothers. We come first, not a priestess, no matter what she was to you. We grew up together, faced perils together, we’re your family. We had your back. And you just left without—”

“—I’m sorry!” Ezril snapped, tossing the stick aside and not meaning what he had said. All he could feel was anger at his brother for talking of Lenaria as if she were dead, as if it was of no real consequence, for assuming they were anywhere near being as important as she was, and for accusing him of sleeping with her. But he found the latter annoyed him the most because though it had been false at the time, it was true now, and Darvi had tainted the beauty of it and made it sound as though it was nothing but filth and anathema.

“I’m sorry I chose Lenaria over the rest of you,” he continued, not meaning any of the words that left his lips. “But she needed me more than you did. And perhaps if such a scenario were to present itself again in the future, maybe I’ll listen to you and do nothing. But what’s done is done. And I believe we best be done with it too.”

Darvi looked at him, an expression he hadn’t seen on his brother before colored his face.

“You think this is about you choosing her over us?” he asked, visibly shocked, his voice tainted in disappointment. “You think we tried to stop you from saving her? You think we wouldn’t have ridden into uncertainty beside you to save a woman you cared about? We are your brothers, Ezril!” he hissed. “Did you really think us so petty that we would have stopped you?” Now he paused, took a calming breath and shook his head. Then his face grew placid. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. “If you think going after her was what you did wrong, then I don’t think you know what it means to be a priest.”

And with that, he left.