It was late by the time Gar and his friends returned with Loria’s corpse. The smell led them straight to her, and Gar’s heart broke for Kindra, knowing what she’d seen when she came upon her mother. They lashed together small trees to make a platform, laid her bones on it carefully, and trudged all the way back to Fie Eoin with the smell of death lingering around them.

The High Priestess was waiting for them in her tent, and didn’t wince at the smell. She stared at the corpse for a long time with her lips pressed together after they set Loria down, but without a word she tossed a handful of herbs on the fire to smother the smell of decay.

“Thank you for returning her to the tribe, warriors. You may go.”

They filed out, but Gar stopped at the door. “The tribe isn’t likely to accept this fresh insult. Oak’s going to have to do something.”

The High Priestess looked at him. “Oak? Or someone else?” Her gaze flicked to his wrist before she turned away and began the preparations for the body.

Gar wrapped his hand around the bandage. Surely the High Priestess couldn’t know what marked his wrist? He left the tent quickly to wash the smell off him. When he returned to his own tent it was empty—his father would be helping build the pyre, and his mother was probably with Monk and Cougar’s mothers as they consoled each other over the loss of a good friend.

Gar un-wrapped the bandage around his wrist to inspect the tattoo. It was healing well, stark against his pale skin from the ash he’d rubbed in it. By the time it was warm enough to stop wearing long sleeves the mark would be impossible to hide, which meant he needed to gather Kindra's other supporters soon and demand Oak let her back into the warriors.

The door flap opened, and Gar covered his wrist in a handful of ash.

"Hello, son."

His father? What was Wolf doing home already? "Hello," Gar said, innocent as possible, but his father faced him with a hard stare, eyes flicking to his wrist.

"What happened to you?"

Gar shrugged as he looked at his wrist. "Just a scratch. It's healing."

Wolf shifted his weight and crossed his arms. "A scratch? That's quite the scratch to show up the night Kindra disappeared."

"It's... uh..." Might as well be out with part of the truth. "Kindra found out about Geoff. And me."

Wolf's fingers tapped against his arm. "And she scratched your wrist for it?"

"It's a deep scratch."

"I gather." He motioned for Gar to show his wrist.

Gar hugged it protectively. His father wouldn't kill him for the mark, but he wouldn't be pleased. "It's healing well. No need to worry."

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"I'm not worried if you're covering it in ash." Wolf motioned again. "Seems you want it visible."

Gar stared him straight in the eye. "I don't."

"Then stop being stupid." Wolf grabbed his hand and stretched Gar's arm straight. He let out a long sigh as he saw the damning mark. “You’ll give us away if you’re caught with this.”

“I won’t be caught. I’ll keep it bandaged until we’re ready.”

Wolf dropped his arm. “There’s nothing we can do until Kindra’s a warrior, and after this little blunder in Fie Obsid, I doubt Oak will allow that.”

“Then we make him.”

Wolf’s laugh was full of sarcasm. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Gar began pacing, his hand around his wrist. “We gather her supporters. Find out how many there are now. With everything that’s happened since the Warrior’s Ceremony, the others can’t be pleased with Oak.”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll risk their life for Kindra.”

Gar stopped. “If we outnumber him, it’s not a risk. He’ll have no choice but step down as chief.”

Wolf’s fingers tapped against his arm again. “Deposing a chief is a delicate business. Just because a warrior may not agree with the way things have been handled lately doesn’t mean they’ll turn on their Eoin-ordained leader.”

“They will for an Odion. The only Odion left in the tribe now that Loria’s dead and Kaye is missing.”

His father stared at him a moment before motioning him to follow. Gar did, until his father reached the tent of the chief. Surely his own father wouldn't turn him in?

Wolf opened the flap and spoke humbly. "Pardon the interruption. Could I speak to Petoskey a moment? It's about his son."

His son? Did Wolf know about Monk's tattoo also? Gar couldn't let them think it was Monk's fault. "Wait," he said, but Petoskey was already out of the tent and into the dark fire circle, face stern.

"What did he do now?"

Wolf motioned for him to follow, and they found Monk in the Preston tent with Alder. Wolf nodded at the warriors. "Show us your wrists."

They looked at Gar, but all he could do was shrug. His father already knew, so they might as well. When Monk showed his wrist, it was bandaged.

"Take it off," Wolf said.

Monk looked to his father, who nodded. As Gar checked the doorway for anyone listening in, Monk unwound the cloth from his wrist until his raw tattoo showed. Petoskey sucked in a breath.

"This is blasphemy."

Monk smirked. "I wouldn't be hiding it under a bandage otherwise."

Petoskey looked to Gar, then Al, then back to his son. "Why? Why would you risk your lives this way?"

Gar almost said "for Kindra" but Monk spoke first.

"Because I pledged to risk my life for the tribe already. This is my renewed pledge."

"The tribe is more than one family."

Monk squared his shoulders. "Of course, but that family has lost its life for us already. That family has pledged anew its frail life to this tribe, and we have seen it perish in a season on the word of someone who also supposedly pledged his life to the tribe. The Odion's sins were not so great to be cast out. The God's family is still loved, despite its shortcomings."

Petoskey stared at his son, silent, for a long time before speaking. "The God's family is still loved, but this is not the way to go about proving that."

Wolf turned to Gar. "I suppose Cougar also has a mark?"

"Yes," Gar said.

"Anyone else?"

He shook his head. "We didn’t know who to trust with it."

Petoskey drew his dagger. "We know who to trust. Kindra is not particularly well-loved, but her father's memory is. And with Loria murdered by the Obsidians, the tribe will call for their blood again. Let us talk to the warriors. You boys keep those marks hidden and keep quiet."

"But…” Gar stopped at a look from his father.

Petoskey began to draw the mark on his own wrist. "You are dismissed, warriors. Try to keep it hidden from Kindra, too. We don't need her over-reacting until we're ready."

Monk wrapped the bandage around his wrist. "That'll be easy, since she won't speak to any of us."