A wood-walled hut at the center of the camp released a plume of white smoke from its center. The perimeter of the structure tripled that of any other hut in the encampment. Several yards of trampled dirt encircled the dwelling as it served as a gathering place for the tribe when the Chieftain addressed them.

There, Maisen, Daysha, and Keti waited while one of the Chieftain's attendants announced their arrival. Exchanging quick glances, none of them were keen to speak. Maisen shuffled dirt around his feet and kicked away twigs and pebbles where he stood. Keti ran her hands absent-mindedly through her hair. Feeling her thirst grow under the direct morning sun, Daysha considered whether it would be appropriate to wander into the shade of a hut across the way.

“You don’t think we'll be turned away, do you?” Daysha whispered her worry to Maisen.

“No. But it could take time. I'm sure he has many other things to attend to.” Maisen rested his hands on her shoulders.

“I’ve never been in the Chieftain’s hut,” Keti admitted shyly.

“I have,” Maisen offered.

“I haven’t either, Mother.” Daysha turned to Maisen, “What’s it like?”

Maisen did not answer, but nodded past her, indicating that the attendant had reappeared in the doorway, and beckoned them inside.

Rich mint and bergamot incense filled the hut. Flames from a large, midroom fire danced violently, emitting intense light, but minimal heat. They reached higher than Daysha's eyeline. A towering, smooth column of smoke flowed toward the ceiling and knocked playfully along the thatching before it escaped through the ventilated opening.

Orange flashes of light tinted rich vine drapings and leafy boughs along the walls. To Daysha's left were pots and baskets heaped with food of all sorts which Daysha recognized as the harvested items the tribal attendants distributed weekly. Three such attendants, young men who had achieved a high level of honor with this position, knelt to their right. Hands on their knees and their eyes fixedly downcast, they awaited instruction. Behind them, a large, heaping pile of skins were laid out as a luxurious bed.

Baubles of shimmering metals and stones draped the hut in a scattered, gleaming canopy. They hung from the reeds of the roof, bound by long strands of sinew, dangling down an ell’s length. Each ornament glittered in the fire light. Farthest from the doorway, the dense forest of flashing trinkets formed an awning over a collection of large boulders, arranged like a seat. Fabulous striped, spotted, and richly colored skins draped the boulders having been cushioned from beneath with cattails.

The Chieftain, however, was not seated. Behind the tall flames, he crouched, fussing with something near the coals. Daysha could see his broad shoulders spanning beyond the breadth of the fire.

The Chieftain's barrel chest stretched twice the width of Maisen's. He stood upon their entry and Daysha wondered why he hadn't been the first thing she noticed. A head taller than Maisen, he towered over the women. His dark skin beaded with sweat along his bare chest. Girded in a loincloth made of a rich golden lion hide, his exposed thighs bulged. A mighty hunter and protector, the Chieftain guarded his position with his formidable presence alone.

Unlike the times Daysha had seen him at feasts and gatherings, he looked congenial, even friendly. He had always been an ominous presence in her life. An implication of gravitas followed him persistently. Therefore, his welcome of them this day portended a deep significance which weakened Daysha's knees.

The Chieftain's hut did not have an exposed dirt floor, rather it had been lined wall to wall with antelope skins. The first attendant indicated a small water basin by the door for them to remove their footwear and wash their feet. One of the kneeling attendants had risen to assist them as they allowed. Maisen seemed to rush his washing so as to avoid the attention of the young man, who offered a steady arm to Keti as she carefully wiped one foot after the other.

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Daysha finished without assistance and looked up to see the Chieftain had taken his seat. The three of them rounded the fire before Maisen led them in the next action, and they all knelt, facing the Chieftain.

He traced each of their faces carefully, his eyes glinted like the hanging trinkets. In a thirsty voice, as if knowing how to coax a stream to himself he half-whispered, "What is it that you seek?”

“Master.”

Daysha heard Maisen, but did not turn to look at him.

The Chieftain, with an upturned palm, lifted his hand indicating it was appropriate for Maisen to rise and speak.

His feet planted firmly and clasping his own wrist behind his back, Maisen explained, “My mate, Daysha, and I both have done our union harm by engaging in secrecy. Not deception, since when the moment called for truth we gave it freely. And it was in that revelation that we have found ourselves bonded in a miracle.

“Master, we each have experienced dreams. Mine, I suffered alone. Daysha confided in her mother, Keti, who encouraged both Daysha's honesty with me, and our presence before you now.

“These dreams, while different for us in many ways, seem to be connected in a manner that we cannot explain. We seek your wisdom in these matters.”

The Chieftain’s expression didn't reveal much. His voice, though, sounded mildly interested as he prompted Maisen, “Tell me.”

Maisen recounted his dream, including details Daysha did not yet know: the first occurrence had been on the night of his first hunt. As he and a cadre of young tribesmen camped on the shores of The Southern Embankment on the eve of the hunt, the dream came. It came to him on the eve of every hunt since.

Daysha shuddered at the thought. He must have considered The Watch a blessing, a sleepless reprieve from the guilt and shame the dream prompted. ‘More than seven,’ he’d said. For who could keep count? Perhaps he had… and withheld that detail from her as well. Guessing at a number made Daysha ill and she resolved never to ask.

“But I'll allow you to hear it from her,” Maisen nodded and knelt.

Daysha's mind had wandered and she had not heard Maisen's closing words. Her time had come. The Chieftain gestured for her to rise to her feet.

Upon standing, Daysha locked eyes with the Chieftain. A wild hunger lay behind them. She considered how a doe must feel to catch those ravenous eyes in a field. Daysha felt her tongue stick and she struggled to know where to begin.

The Chieftain smiled. His whole face softened, but the fire in his eyes did not change.

“Tell me of your dream,” the low rumble in his voice soothed Daysha's nerves.

She described every detail including, as Maisen had, the timing of events. She also revealed information previously unknown to Maisen: her self-made ritual at the river, the desperation that the dream awoke in her by its seeming connection to her childlessness.

Once finished, Daysha moved to kneel once more, but the Chieftain clicked his fingers with a loud snap and she froze. A shuffle of activity from the attendants disoriented Daysha who took a moment to realize the three men in waiting rushed to produce four logs, seemingly from nowhere.

They placed each of the thick trunk pieces on end and draped them overtop with rabbit skins. Then they stationed the logs in a wide semi-circle between the guests and the fire. The Chieftain rose, which alerted Maisen and Keti to stand as well.

Maisen assisted Keti to her feet gingerly. She rubbed her knees and looked eager for a reprieve.

“I am pleased you brought this matter to my attention.” The Chieftain nodded to Daysha and Maisen. “I am willing to grant you my counsel, but we have so much more to discuss.”

His voice grew eager, jovial. While he seemed to take their words to heart, the Chieftain gave no indication that he acknowledged any solemnity in the matter.

He placed himself on the far-right seat, facing the flames, and told the rest to sit. Maisen sat to his left, then Daysha, then Keti.

“Tell me, Maisen, about your first hunt.”