Amber sneers, but continues down the trail, dragging her feet as some of the untrained barrack boys are wont to do.
As we near the village, we come upon Nori and Dogan, who fall in line behind us.
Dogan is lucky that he started courting one of the better Penticari women early, as most of them are scatterbrained and scare easily.
But Nori is smart, logical, and controls her emotions better than any Tempest man in my memory.
Unlike Amber, who cares only for those who will listen to her and do as she says, Nori works toward the betterment of her tribe, even if it means she must take on more responsibilities.
As the village comes into view, Amber’s spine straightens and her chin lifts, and I realize that even though she is filthy, having spent several days out in the wilds of the island, she lacks humility.
She looks around the small huts and tents that encompass our homes and workspace, her nose scrunched. “My father’s courtyard was more impressive than this.”
“You are welcome to sleep there if it suits you better.”
She shakes her head, starting forward toward a group of gathered Penticari.
I grab her by the shoulder before she can join them.
“Remember—”
She jerks her shoulder away. “Not to tell anyone what I saw.”
“If you do, you might find yourself out in the wilds again.”
She walks away, toward the longhouse where the others are lingering.
Grixis will be eager to know all I have seen, but I am exhausted after long days of travel, so he will have to wait.
I approach my hut, eager to unburden myself, but as soon as I enter, my blood rushes in fury, for my home is not empty.
“What are you doing here?” I snarl at the small, weak Penticari woman named Asha.
With large blue eyes, she looks up at me from the floor, her honey-blonde hair shifting over her shoulders.
Blankets span across the floor, pooling around her body, some thrown in layers across my table.
“Did you not hear me?” I growl, taking a step forward. “Why are you in my home?”
“Oh, I’m?—”
I grab a blanket and shake it in my fist. Loose threads sway, and wooden sticks being used to hold some in place fall to the floor.
“What is this?” I snarl.
A squeak sounds from under a blanket, and a small vaeyark scurries out from under it.
My jaw drops in disbelief. “You let a rodent into my home!” my voice booms.
“It’s Harold?—”
“It has a name?” I blurt, the anger in my voice replaced by shock.
Weak Asha blinks up at me, her lips moving, but no words come out of her mouth.
“What is this?” I shake the blanket again.
“M-my weave?—”
