Bruen slides the borrowed spear from his opponent's thorax, spilling blue blood onto the once fine uniform Einiss wears. The chorus of striation pouring over him assures him that sparing Einiss is the right choice. The disgraced youth slumps before him, dripping onto the stone in defeat.

Ignoring Einiss until the other chooses to acknowledge his defeat, as is traditional, Bruen glides over to his alien companion. He offers the gray alien his knife back, dangling loosely from a pair of upper tendrils. "No knicks."

Gelly takes it and inspects the weapon closely. Consternation wars with humor across his fleshy face and he finally exclaims, "Ye've gone and soaked the handle in Squiver blood." He sheaths the weapon before he continues, shaking his head, "That stuff does no come out."

"Well done, Bruen," rasps the old one, Mos Riyl. "I almost want to challenge you myself."

"If you wish," begins Bruen, grip tightening around Einiss's spear, but the old one waves him off.

"Some other time, when there are less around to witness my defeat," the scarred general wheezes out before a coughing fit takes him. "I've few seasons of service left, and I choose not to spend them in the healers' clutches."

His cough is worse than Bruen remembers, and he thinks that perhaps the elder has less time than he believes until disability takes him from the field. "I did not hurt him beyond repair."

"No, and thank the tides that you didn't," Mos Riyl declares with a huff. "He's one of the better of his generation. Loyal, brave."

"Stupid," interjects Gelly.

"Not everyone is so lucky to be trained by a legend," Bruen says quietly.

"Who?" Gelly asks, "That Shiant person?"

Riyl's lower tendrils slap loudly into Gelly's armored back. Bruen and he both jump in shock, but the young general notices the suppressed quivering of his elder, sure signal of laughter barely held back.

"Keep this one around you, youngster," proclaims Riyl, who turns in the direction of his tent. "He'll get me arrested."

The way Gelly scratches at the thick tuft of hair atop his head causes Bruen to take pity upon the alien. "Emotional outbursts are signs of loss of control, like the dust eaters experience. Their behavior is excused, because of the burden they bear, but for others it is shameful. To lose control in front of his command would be a loss requiring redress, perhaps retirement."

"And yer Anus?" Gelly looks over at the blood-soaked figure, being attended by his own robed follower. "He got right mad, there."

"Righteous indignation is admirable, allowing one to fight beyond the mind's ability to cope with pain," answers an elder, still standing in her place from before. "So long as one knows when to resist the urge to chew salt."

"Mos Len, I noticed you when we arrived. How are your grelld? Still causing havoc for your groundskeeper?"

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Her pedipalps signal approval before she walks over to them. "Reynol copes as he can. Your companion throws well, is it a warrior slave?"

"Aye, but they slew me master ages ago."

"Oh, good. Reynol could use a companion for when I'm away. What would you like for him?"

"Regretfully, I cannot give him to you. We owe him a debt of service, and I am tasked with fulfilling it."

The old one leans closer. The gemstones set into her face in place of four of her eyes glitter in reds and greens. "A pity." She looks up into Gelly's gray face. "If you ever seek work, there is a place for you on my estate," she says airily before gliding away.

"Nice lady," quips the armored alien.

"Indeed," Bruen answers tonelessly. "Eat something, then we leave to clear the way forward."

He leads the way to a supply tent and takes a basket of fruits for the two to share. What they don't eat, Drev stores in a large bag strapped to his back. Zek stuffs odd supplies into the heavy sack, which the soldier bears with quiet dignity. As the four begin to leave camp, Einiss approaches them, his movements stiff and formal.

"I've spoken with Mos Len. Our aunt wishes me to accompany you, at least until you reach the city."

"It is good that your Somner was able to reattach your tendrils," Bruen says, rather than answer him directly. "You have many seasons yet of service you can provide to the Empire."

"I, yes, I see. Thank you." The youth touches the fresh scars that mar his otherwise blemish free carapace. "How did you learn to move like that?"

Bruen looks closely at his brother. After a pair of heartbeats he decides the question is honest. "When your father first brought me to his manor, he had a particular grelld. Friszy, he called her. That's how you had to move when that thing was in the room, or it would bite at your tentacles. Denn trained the monster somehow, but would never admit it."

Gelly's loud guffaw startles the two adoptive siblings, and they turn to look at him. "Right old bastard, yer da."

"Your servant is both crude and vulgar."

"Yes. I find his irreverence refreshing, though it can be a bit much at times." He waves a few tendrils in desperation. "Unfortunately, the old one would agree with him. Mos Denn's curmudgeonly nature was well known."

Somner Zek stands off to the side with the other of her caste, indulging in their mysteries. The two entangle each other in a show of indecent familiarity, tendrils draping across one another and under their robes. The energy that flows between them tugs at the implant in Bruen's face, sending sparks across his vision. White and green auras shimmer at the very edge of his perception. As if they realize they had been spotted, the two suddenly separate before joining the rest of the group.

Now numbering six, the group marches up the tunnel, with Bruen in the lead and Gelly trailing behind. The first portion of the journey is uneventful, and the tunnels they pass through are quiet. They see no evidence of enemy forces at first, and decide to make camp when Einiss and the Somners begin to droop from exhaustion.

Drev passes out fruit and preserved meat, garnering minor complaints from Einiss and thanks from all. Zek waves away the offered rations, choosing instead to work on Bruen's new weapon. She inhales a vial of her drug and digs through the heavy bag Drev carries. Bruen hopes she remembers what she's supposed to be making, and doesn't create another art project.

White energy swirls around and through her, which Bruen does his best to ignore. The headaches are not worth indulging his curiosity. To pass the time while the less fit members of his squad rests, Bruen practices his unarmed fighting forms. Einiss observes from is place by the wall, but remains seated.

When he finishes his exertions he finds the gray alien tapping away at a small device. Gelly looks up as Bruen approaches and asks, "Anythin' ye want to say to me Aunt? She'll enjoy hearin' bout yer duel in yer own words."

Bruen declines, but Mos Einiss's interest is piqued. The aristocratic young general slides his way to beside Gelly and begins bragging about the great warrior who defeated him to secure his place at the forefront of their house. Embarrassment drives Bruen to the edges of their campsite, to seek escape from the half-truths pouring from his brother.

It's there that he sees the tribal group sneaking through the darkness.