The next morning Jeshin stepped out of Gzoh’s wagon and immediately shivered The skies were otherwise clear, unlike the low cloud cover and morning fog of the previous few days, and the temperature had plummeted from slightly below freezing to a biting cold.

Jeshin climbed a tree and saw a thick bank of clouds on the eastern horizon. That storm would hit them before nightfall. The caravan would have to stop, and it would take days before the snow melted enough to run the wagons again. In ordinary circumstances that would be totally fine, but that monster from the ruins was still lurking about, searching for humans to eat.

It would not attack a group as large as theirs. Probably. And the Ufriq had magical protections besides. But Jeshin’s gut hated the development, and her nerves wound tighter and tighter as she grabbed breakfast with her friends.

The Ufriq were clueless today, as they were most days, and chattered about anything other than the threats closing in on them. Jeshin tried to steer the conversation in that direction a couple of times, but each time Tria dismissed her concerns out of hand.

Eventually she gave up and joined the group’s discussion of knitting plans instead. It was good Lugha practice, at least. Threy was eternally patient with her mistakes and bad pronunciation, and loved explaining any words she missed.

But Jeshin’s mind kept wandering. She needed her halberd, but Gzoh had the key and she was still lying unmoving in her wagon, sleeping in for once. As was Jay, but that was not unusual.

Jeshin had placed trackers on them both as part of the job, Jay for protection and Gzoh for caution. She should probably have asked Jay for their consent first, but they would have refused the necessary precaution. Besides, the bee was starting to suspect that something was up and seemed merely annoyed at her uncanny knowledge of their whereabouts, not angry.

"Do you think Jay will want to join us?" Threy asked, "We have enough yarn for another set of hands. That hat of theirs is way too small for their head, we could start on a new one. With feathers."

And yet Jay loved that hat for some reason. Jeshin had tried to buy them a replacement in Pleurian, but they had staunchly refused. At least they had accepted actual winter clothes made of wool and leather instead of padded linens. Jeshin promised to invite them anyway.

"You always think feathers are the solution," Ethan grumbled, "It’s a hack to cover up your designs missing a stitch every other line."

"I get distracted and lose count," Threy said defensively, "And besides, your designs are boring."

"They are designed for optimal enchanting!" Ethan said, "That’s not boring."

"No offense, Ethan," Tria said gently, "But that absolutely makes them boring."

Ethan scoffed and dug into his portion of the hot pumpkin and pepper soup. Time to interrupt the quarrel before it turned into something more serious.

"Do you know which wagon holds the armory?" Jeshin asked, "If that monster attacks I need to know where it is."

"You are still on about that?" Tria asked, "I told you, no monster can get through our illusions. And if one does Bristle clan will handle it.

"But if it makes you feel better, the armory wagon is that one with the red stripes on the sides."

"Thanks, Tria," Jeshin said, "It does make me feel better."

"You are welcome." Tria said, brightly.

"Uhh, didn’t Gzoh tell us to specifically not reveal that?" Threy asked, "She made it seem pretty important."

"If she wants to order people about she should fuck off and go become a princess," Tria said, "She sure acts like one. Gzoh is the absolute worst. Let’s pawn her off to another caravan as soon as we can."

The other Ufriq nodded in agreement. That was weird. Gzoh was a pain in Jeshin’s ass, sure, but she was competent. Jeshin was not sure what her friends meant by ’pawn her off’, but it felt like they were discussing a demotion. Or exile. Gzoh did not deserve either.

"Gzoh just wants to protect you," Jeshin said, "I understand why she made that request, and am not offended by it. You should have listened. Keeping information secure is important, and I could just have asked her directly."

Ethan chuckled.

"Sometimes I forget you aren’t Ufriq," Ethan said, "Peace speakers swap caravans all the time, much more than clans do. It’s their job to get on our nerves, if they don’t get kicked out of a caravan every once in a while they aren’t doing it right.

"I love Gzoh as a person and my brain says she is mostly in the right. But she has broken many of our customs recently and my heart cannot stand the sight of her face because of it. It keeps telling me she, of all people, should know better. Do better."

"I blame her for bad weather," Threy said cheerfully, "All snow is due to Gzoh. It’s funny because it rhymes."

"It doesn’t even rhyme in Lugha though," Ethan said, "Only Rhina."

"It’s still funny," Threy asserted.

Jeshin imagined Gzoh riding a pegasus and frantically throwing buckets of water into the air, just to rain a few flakes onto Threy’s hair out of spite.

They’re right, Jeshin thought with a smile, It is pretty funny.

PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]

Jeshin ran through a longer than usual set of morning training forms, stretches, and strength exercises before the distant stars of light pointing towards Gzoh’s wagon started to move about. It was warm work, so she took a moment to stop and savor how the cold dry air wicked the sweat from her skin before she headed back.

She usually avoided Gzoh in the mornings. And in the evenings. But Jeshin needed to arm herself, so in to the breach it was. She entered the wagon, sat on her hammock, and stared at Gzoh.

She and Jay were eating breakfast: beans and bread.

"Good morning to you too, Jeshin," Gzoh said, "What’s on your mind?"

"There is a monster in the woods and the storm is going to leave us stuck for a few days. I need my halberd back," Jeshin said.

Best to get straight to the point.

"You do not need your weapon," Gzoh said, "You want it. My answer is no."

Jeshin growled.

That was not a very diplomatic answer, Gzoh, She thought, Some peace speaker you are.

"I would surrender it again after we reach the deep woods," Jeshin said, "And the potential danger is passed."

"The danger," Gzoh said, "Is not a monster which will ignore our presence because of our enchantments. It is you. Especially you when armed. I heard about that episode in Pleurian where you got spooked and nearly killed your friend."

Who had told her? It must have been one of her soldiers. Or ’Solre. Either way, it felt like a betrayal, and Jeshin did not take betrayal well. She had to clutch her hands together to prevent them from balling into fists.

"So, you take away my ability to protect myself based on slander?" Jeshin snapped, "That ’episode’ as you call it never happened. Which you would know if you bothered to help instead of running away like a coward."

"That’s rich, you talking about slander," Jay butted in.

"Shut up, Jay," both women said in unison. They shut up.

"I will ask Filoplume clan to keep an eye out for monsters," Gzoh conceded, "If they spot it, I will allow you to join Bristle clan in hunting it down, and will even release your halberd from the armory for that purpose.

"Do you have anything more you wanted to talk about?"

Jeshin contemplated the words for a bit. She hated Gzoh’s deal, but at least she was taking her seriously enough to agree to increased patrols. Jeshin would just have to trust that it would be enough.

"Tell them to keep an eye out for a demon, too," Jeshin said, "A young demon of fear, too young and with too little power to take on monstrous forms. I killed it last night after it turned on its summoner."

"I will do so," Gzoh said.

"A demon could get through your enchantments," Jeshin wheedled, "So I need to be armed in case it reforms and attacks us before we leave."

"And yet you killed it without your weapon last night," Gzoh observed, "If it somehow gets past both Filoplume and Bristle, just do that again."

"I borrowed a spear from an adventurer buddy of mine," Jeshin lied, "It was a tough fight."

Gzoh stared at her suspiciously. Jeshin gave the woman an indolent grin, not even bothering to keep a straight face.

Gzoh grunted.

"The armory wagon is in the baggage train, it’s the one with the red stripes," Gzoh said, "This is the key to your halberd."

She slipped a small enchanted string tied with a sequence of knots over to Jeshin.

"If you unlock it, I will know," Gzoh warned, "And it better be an emergency."

"Yes, ma’am," Jeshin said, "As you say ma’am."

Gzoh stood up with a huff, appalled by Jeshin’s blatant Ufriq-style insult, and stalked out of the wagon. Victory tasted so, so sweet.

"Is that true?" Jay asked, hesitantly, "Did the explosion really spook you?"

And the sweetness turned to bitterness in an instant. For the last time, she did not want to talk about it. The constant prodding was worse than her episodes ever could be. Even if it was kind hearted prodding.

But it was relevant to her job, so as much as it galled her Jay needed to know enough to stay safe. She should have told them days ago. Jeshin lay down on her hammock and closed her eyes.

"Yes," Jeshin said, after a while, "Mirrin was the worst thing I have ever been through. And I won’t talk about specifics. Just, afterwards.

"I couldn’t fight for months. Couldn’t even talk much. I smelled dust everywhere I went, even when bathing. I would get these flashes, random times when I just froze up and felt like I couldn’t breathe. Not only when training, but when doing anything. Even reading.

"I got better eventually. Archon... Archon helped me. Said he understood, that it happened to everyone.

"But loud noises, especially unexpected ones, bring me right back to that place."

Jeshin chuckled where she lay, did not even open her eyes.

"I can stare down artillery and a cavalry charge no problem if I’m expecting it, fight demons three times stronger than me," She continued, "But if someone sneaks up behind me and pops a paper bag next to my ear I fall to pieces.

"And fireworks? Gods I hate fireworks."

The wagon fell silent for a long while. Jeshin just stayed on the hammock, feeling miserable. This was obviously the end of her mission. Jay would refuse to work with her now.

Well? Jeshin thought, I just exposed a massive weakness of mine, and you love hitting those. Give me a shank, Jay, throw me one of the barbs you like so much. The expectation of pain is killing me here.

"But you would still protect me?" Jay asked, "Even if there was another explosion?"

That was not an insult. The voice was not even unkind, although it did have that strange cracking twist to it.

Ugh. Jeshin hardly knew this person anymore.

"If I’m expecting an explosion I can handle them," Jeshin said, "I was drunk and caught unawares back in Pleurian. And it is hard to smuggle military explosives near enough to catch me unawares, I take scouting seriously. So I don’t foresee any problems with my performance regarding the mission.

"If you aren’t comfortable with this weakness of mine, I get it. The Ufriq can get you to Two Crosses and a paladin can escort you from there. I can stay with Threy or Tria, or go my own way entirely."

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Another long silence stretched through the wagon. Jeshin risked a look at Jay.

Their face did not well with pity, nor hatred as Jeshin had seen so many times before. It was, instead, thoughtful. Jeshin felt a surge of sudden affection for the bee. Then they spoke and ruined it.

"I don’t think that makes you weak, Jeshin," Jay said, finally. "I think that makes you strong. I actually feel better about your protection now."

Oh look, someone else trying to fix me, and with trite platitudes to boot, Jeshin thought, Fuck you, Jay. I’m not some broken toy you can sew together on a whim. Better people than you have tried.

People like Amber. Jeshin had asked if they could help her, after she woke up next to them in the dirt and decided to get her life back together. Begged the aether to stop her nightmares and episodes.

They did not have the skill.

But Jay was just trying to help in their incompetent civilian way, so Jeshin responded to their attempt with a noncommittal grunt.

"Tria and the others wanted me to invite you to knitting this evening," Jeshin deflected, "Make you a better hat. I doubt you have ever knitted in your life, but it’s not that hard. Relaxing, even."

"I haven’t, no," Jay said. Rich fuck. "And I like my hat. But I would love to join you all tonight.

I’m planning to spend the day studying some magic and history books that Ian and Gzoh lent me. I’ll be safe, so you can do your own thing until then. I know how much you dislike being cooped up."

Cooped up was right. Jay looked like a half plucked chicken whenever their beak got stuck in a book. Which was surprisingly seldom, they loved to draw much more than they loved to read. But if they were not planning on going out, Jeshin had the day to herself.

Maybe she could ask one of those Bristle or Filoplume clan members for a spar.

PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]

The Ufriq were shit fighters and even worse losers, which left Jeshin in a foul mood for knitting.

They did not wear armor, and mostly trained for mounted combat against single targets using javelins and figure-eight pelte shields made of raptor skin. They loved distracting their target with long, enchanted cloth ribbons, sometimes tipped with feathers.

No individual fights, no group versus group fights, and very little drilling or strength training.

Jeshin supposed that the sparring was mildly useful training, especially against dumb monsters, but not for any real fight against a committed, intelligent adversary.

At least they were diligent about safety. Two people, one Bristle and one Filoplume, checked and rechecked each weapon’s cloth bluntings before every spar. They even fetched and blunted a pike for her when she asked for something longer than a javelin.

When it was Jeshin’s turn to play the monster against three Bristles she proceeded to ignore those useless fluttering banners and rush the weakest point of their encirclement. She used her superior armor to absorb any stray attacks, and dismounted each in turn with broad swipes of her pike or precise throws of their own scavenged javelins.

They asked her to remove her armor and repeat the spar. She trounced them again, though she had to be much more careful about her spacing and positioning this time. She had the reach advantage with her pike up close, but to their credit the Bristles were very good at throwing javelins at odd timings and angles.

They added another opponent and repeated the spar. Same result, but this time she took a non-fatal wound to her left arm from a well placed thrust. The buntings prevented any blood from being spilled, but she would have a nasty bruise tomorrow.

They added another opponent. Then another. As the pressure mounted Jeshin had to take more and more risks to end up on top, trade glancing hits for killing blows.

In ordinary circumstances this would have felt amazing. Jeshin loved that dance between death and utter victory, where all it took was one mistake on either side to make the difference. But she was relying on these people to protect Jay, and they could barely protect a cat from a scary hairball.

Six soldiers, and mounted ones at that? A properly equipped and disciplined unmounted force would beat her two on one most of the time, and three on one basically all the time. No matter the individual skill difference.

Jeshin lost against seven. She just could not find the right timing to break the encirclement without taking a fatal wound. If she rushed, she would get speared by the one she approached, and if she did not rush she would get nailed by a throw from behind.

Not only did she lose, she lost hard. Jeshin took dozens of fatal wounds within the handful of heartbeats between the start of the spar and when the coordinator finally, blessedly, ended it. Each was delivered with such force she felt like a landslide had decided to flatten her for the fun of it.

All she got for this impressive feat and mass of bruises was a faint nod from the spar coordinator and a shout of "Next!" No praise for her skill, no acknowledgment of fault in either their doctrine or training methods. Nothing.

It was more like a ritual than a real spar. A statement, repeated endlessly. "Don’t act up or be individually better, you will just get beaten down for it."

It’s a lesson a lot of young soldiers need to learn, Jeshin thought, Discipline and coordination beats individual skill every time. Archon made a point to teach that to you, once. But basing your entire training routine around it is stupid.

If these Bristles ever fought the Throats, they would be slaughtered. She knew it. They knew it. And they did not care to change their methods or even acknowledge the problem.

PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]

The sparring wrapped up just as the first snowflakes began to fall, so Jeshin headed directly to Tria’s wagon for knitting. Perhaps it would help her relax some, and it at least promised to be warm. Jay was already there. Jeshin had not needed to fetch them this time; the caravan had clumped together to brace for the storm, and so their walk from Gzoh’s to Tria’s had been perfectly safe.

Thovin and Achlin were there too, which was quite awkward. Thovin’s black eye had faded to a dull, sickly green, and while she tried to engage her in polite conversation Jeshin could tell she had been put up to it by someone. Probably Tria.

Jeshin tried to make Thovin more comfortable by remaining as unobtrusive as possible. She focused on her knitting, and responded to the group conversation with grunts.

The strategy worked, and soon the conversation moved away from stilted peacemaking and towards, well, normal things. The weather, food, amusing stories, the knitting itself, plans for the future...

Apparently Thovin and Achlin were expecting a child, which inevitably brought the conversation in that direction. Ugh.

"I am definitely having lots of children," Jay said, "The more the better. I worked hard to buy my apartment and I’m not letting the city steal it from my blood. Legacy is important, you know.

"Besides, children are a great investment. You kiss their scrapes and feed them slop for a couple of years and in return they care for you when you are too withered to work."

"I haven’t decided yet," Threy said, "I suppose if I find the right partner it’ll just happen and I’ll deal with it then. How about you, Jeshin?"

Double ugh. Jeshin defaulted to the excuse she used whenever her parents asked her the same question.

"Once I can retire comfortably I’ll move to Alv and never see another child as long as I live," Jeshin said, "As for legacy, Jay, I’ll train an apprentice or two in the meantime."

"Doesn’t count," Jay said, "Blood is blood, everyone knows that. Apprentices can’t inherit."

And there it was. The offhand comment jabbed straight into the heart of her deepest insecurity.

Most people had children for the reason Jay did. As a way to build a family that could better survive present hardship, and ensure they were well cared for in old age. To leave a legacy behind.

The realities of mercenary life were cruel to such a dream. Jeshin wanted a long term partner. She wanted children. But her job was dangerous, she could die at any time. And the gods were cruel to poor orphans.

If she had a child now and then died before building any wealth for them to inherit, they would be left alone and without means. Without a parent or guardian, without teaching or guidance or protection, her child would be cast out into the world as a waif. Little better than a wild beast, and treated even worse.

Maybe an investor would take that risk. A brilliant strategist of that cruelty called the Varmyr game. After all, either they lived and the child was a boon, or they died and the child did not matter to them anymore. An entire life, wasted as the bottom line of a failed gamble. Not fundamentally different from what Doges did all the time.

Jeshin could never do that, even when it felt like the entire world wanted her to. Parents included. She did not trust hers to take care of a potential child after her death, no matter what they promised.

"Apprentices can inherit in Swau," Ethan said, "You can will your possessions to anyone you wish there. Some families even practice adoption, where someone not blood related is made a full legal child of a family."

Jeshin perked up. She had not heard of that before. If she could adopt an apprentice: raise a waif, guide them, teach them how to live a mercenary life, and then pass on her weapon and armor when her luck inevitably ran out? That would fix a lot of problems.

If she died before she could get her child standing on their feet, well, then they were just right back to where they started. Nothing lost.

Why doesn’t Alv have anything like that? Jeshin wondered, You were already planning to train a squire after you settled down. Adding ’adoption’ to that would be perfect. Maybe you can ask Baron Lyra about the legalities.

"Wow," Jay said. They made a face. "I’m glad we don’t have that in Varmyr. If Doges could disinherit the children they hated there would be even more family drama amongst the big firms than there already is. And I hate politics."

Of course Jay’s comfort was more important to them than Jeshin’s future.

"Joinder is overrun by waifs abandoned by their parents and adoption could protect them," Jeshin snapped, "Don’t you dare pretend otherwise."

A chill fell across the wagon, and it was not due to the ill fitting window behind Threy.

"I was joking," Jay said, "I know that some parents are terrible people, and allowing others to take responsibility for their waifs is fine by me. The House takes care of everyone, even the illegitimate and unproductive, but it needs all the help it can get.

"Betraying your own blood, though, the thought creeps me out. I don’t think parents should be allowed to disown their children. Or vice versa. Blood ties hold together most of Varmyr. Most of Loerma, even."

"The House exists in Swau as well, Jay," Achlin said, "And parents almost never disinherit their children entirely. The law is mainly used to pass specific magical knowledge to promising, hand-picked successors.

"Thovin and I would know, we studied there for some time. Perhaps you should have done the same before dismissing a core part of an entire culture out of hand."

Jay winced, and stammered an apology.

"I’m sorry," They said, "It was not my intention to insult the Swau, or imply that Varmyr ways are better. I meant to say that a similar law, implemented poorly in Varmyr, would cause a lot of strife. It was a condemnation of the backstabbing nature of the assembly, not the Lua."

"Say that to begin with, then," Achlin huffed, but made no further comment.

Jay’s words sounded genuine, but Jeshin was not satisfied with them. A tension roiled through her gut, made worse by the fact she did not know why her instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong.

Jeshin envied Achlin’s ability to ask for and receive so clear of an apology. She did not even know the words to express her feelings, much less how to ask someone to change. She usually solved her problems by hitting them until they stopped moving.

You still haven’t learned Archon’s lesson, Jeshin thought, Do better, or his cruelty would have been for nothing. Why are you feeling this way, how can you correct it with words instead of fists?

Jeshin suspected that her discomfort had something to do with the way Jay talked about waifs. Like they were a unfortunate fact of life, akin to colds or mice. Not people. Brutalized, scared people whom the law treated more like pirates or bandits than children.

Most would still be children when they died, for one reason or another. And when they grew up... Jeshin had never had the heart to ask what happened then, why she had seen so many abandoned children but very rarely met a stable adult who had once been a waif. She did not have the heart now, either.

So that is how you feel, but you still have no idea how to talk about it, Jeshin thought, Half credit is better than no credit, though. Good job.

A small silence fell across the knitting table after that, only interrupted by Jay’s occasional lamentation about their frankly terrible skill level.

Eventually the conversation moved on to less serious topics, and Jeshin felt the wound tension in her gut relax back to a comfortable alert readiness. She hummed a jaunty fast march while she worked.

Jeshin finished up the last stitch of a pair of poofy green raptor toys and reached for the shears.

Tria was using them, so Jeshin grunted and used her dagger to cut the twine instead, then neatly tied off and hid the last length. There. Impeccable. The entire wagon stared at her as if the blood of the man she had just killed in the attic was beginning to drip through the ceiling. Thovin especially.

Oh shit. She had forgotten about Ufriq squeamishness regarding weapons in their homes.

"You should leave," Thovin said.

"I didn’t mean," Jeshin said, "Sorry, I’ll put it away."

She hurriedly concealed the dagger back in its hidden spot. See? Out of sight, out of mind. It was not like she needed a weapon to kill everyone in the wagon. She could have just used the shears, they were approximately the same shape.

"Leave," Thovin said, "That’s an order."

Jeshin scowled and stalked out of the wagon into the blizzard, yanking her woolens and raptor toys with her. Stupid Gzoh and her stupid fucking power trips. Stupid Ufriq and their stupid fucking customs.

Stupid Jeshin and her stupid fucking problems, Jeshin thought, Stick to hitting things, it’s what you are good at. You hate this social crap anyway.

Jeshin stood outside the wagon for a few minutes. Part of her expected Jay or Tria to follow her out into the storm. To insult her, to comfort her, something. But they did not. That was fine by her, she would just go do her own thing before escorting Jay back to Gzoh’s.

Jeshin was dressed for the weather. She wore warm underclothes under her padding and armor, and a woolen cloak, mittens, hat, and scarf. Plus thick boots and sabots, so she was in no danger of freezing.

It was easy to get lost in this howling wind and pounding snow, especially since the moon had not risen yet. But Jeshin could use her trackers as waypoints, so she managed to navigate over to the raptor pen without much difficulty.

Kitambaa was there, standing amidst the other raptors. All of the animals had large yellow warming blankets draped across their backs, which were hot enough to both keep them safe through the storm and melt whatever snow managed to reach their backs. Kitambaa had a cute little heap of snow piled on top of their crest.

"Approach, Kitambaa!" Jeshin called in Lugha, "Let’s play!"

Kitambaa trotted up to Jeshin and nuzzled her cheek. She petted her on the nose. The raptor flashed her crest in pleasure, which had the unfortunate side effect of spraying Jeshin’s face with snow. She laughed and produced the green toys. They were small balls of stitching stuffed with rags and attached to a very long stitched string.

"Fetch!" She said, and tossed the thing. It soared over Kitambaa’s head. The raptor jumped for it and missed, then flapped to reorient herself before taking off after the ball. Jeshin jerked the string back and forth, dodging a couple of the raptor’s clawed steps, before allowing her to peck the toy to ’death’ and proudly carry it back.

She repeated the process a few times. It was simple and relaxing. Throw the ball, challenge the raptor, let it win. A nice slice of predictability and sanity compared to people’s capricious moods and general hypocrisy.

"Having fun?" Jay called from behind her.

Jeshin whirled around. Her throat seized, her hand was halfway to her dagger before she realized it was them. They were standing a respectful distance away, out of immediate danger. It was considerate of Jay to keep a distance, and Jeshin burned with the shame of its necessity.

She tossed the ball again, and motioned for Jay to move closer if they wished. They did.

"You should not be out here," Jeshin said. She had to speak loudly to be heard over the wind, but did not need to shout. "You can get lost. And your hat is still terrible for the weather."

"I like my hat and no, I can’t," Jay said, "I followed your tracker back to you."

They held out a small, knitted green... scrunched up blob thing that shone with faint patterns of silver thread sewn into it. A light pulsed through a thread of the item, pointing straight towards her.

Jeshin frowned.

"How long have you known about the trackers?" She asked.

"I knew that you have been keeping tabs on me somehow since our first day with the Ufriq," Jay said, "I only figured out how you did it this morning.

"One of Ian’s books mentioned figments for creating and detecting light that humans can’t see, only some animals. I thought maybe that was how you did your tracking thing."

They proudly displayed their knitting.

"I was right, though the light was different than what the book said."

So Jay had enchanted their knitting on a wild hunch, just to come find her. And, presumably, not in order to insult her. That was remarkably sweet of them, if pointless. She was fine.

Jeshin grunted.

"Well, feel free to freeze your butt off while I play with Kitambaa," Jeshin said, "I’m not much in the mood for a chat right now."

"Likewise," Jay said.

They called over Tufaha, sat on his back, pulled out their sketchbook, and began drawing.

The two stayed out in the blizzard until Jay got too cold, and then fell back to the warmth of... Jeshin had been about to think of Gzoh’s wagon as home.

But you don’t have a home Jeshin, Jeshin thought, Your parents made that abundantly clear. It only feels like it because Gzoh hates you just as much as Ershin does.

She slept well that night, regardless, rocked by the gentle thumps of wheels over roots. No one attacked the caravan that night, or the next. Jeshin began to sleep better, deeper, confident that the danger had passed. On the third night she woke to smoke and screams.