Kiera
The snow followedus to Yargoth. It was beautiful the way it coated the forest’s branches and muffled the horses’ hooves.
I had my own horse now. A dark brown one with a black mane and tail named Ozlow.
The day before we left the village, Nikella and a Teacher named Silas had divided up the possessions of the dead. I’d learned it was customary as the Dags were not a wasteful people.
Nikella handed me Ozlow’s reins, saying she’d chosen him for me because of his gentle temperament and small, but hearty size. He’d belonged to an Urzost warrior woman. He’d stared at me with his big brown eyes, and I swore I saw sadness in them. I kissed his nose and promised I would take care of him.
Nikella also gave me a set of steel throwing knives with leather grips and a brace, as well as a sword and a bow with arrows. She said I would need it all for our journey ahead.
The rest of our warriors were similarly re-outfitted.
Then came the matter of the dead Wolves and their gear. After much shouting between clans, the Yargoths and the Urzosts won out, and the Berengars—the clan who’d ridden to their aid—left in a huff.
The Dags stripped the Wolves of their clothes and weapons and burned the bodies in an unceremonious heap. They carted the unbreakable weapons and armor to the sea and threw them in.
They wanted no part of anything mined by their captive brethren. Something the Berengars—who lived much deeper in the north—wouldn’t understand.
Nikella asked them to spread the word to the other clans about what had happened. Perhaps she hoped they would rally behind the Yargoths and the Urzosts and fight against Renwell. But I doubted they would.
Most people didn’t act until the enemy was on their doorstep.
But the Berengars had stopped hunting to aid the village without question, so perhaps there was hope yet.
We’d left the next day at a silent, unhurried pace. So much different from the one we’d kept on the way here.
We’d lost ten of our party, plus a few too severely injured to travel. We rode a fair distance apart, as if keeping gaps open for the missing riders.
I hadn’t spoken to Aiden since our river swim. I hadn’t slept next to him either. I’d laid my mat next to Nikella the last few nights, even though sleep was difficult to come by.
Especially after she told me that Aiden was putting together a plan for Calimber. She’d seemed pleased that I insisted on joining.
She hadn’t started training me yet. But she rode next to me, instructing me on my form.
I’d griped, asking if there was a technique to make my ass hurt less.
“Practice,” she said.
The only bright spot of our snowy journey back to Yargoth was holding throwing knives again. I practiced with them every time we stopped, using a tree for a target.
It also seemed to cheer the Dags up a bit because they appreciated my skill and enjoyed a good-natured competition with me.
I only wished I weren’t shit at every other weapon.
My fingers had itched with desire as I’d watched the Dags cart away the sunstone weapons. That sword had been so easy to wield. So deadly. It would’ve been child’s play to steal one from the cart.
But keeping it hidden would’ve been much harder, so I let it go. Yarina had given up her stolen sunstone gauntlet much more unwillingly.
As we neared the Yargoth camp, I smelled smoke once more. But this time it was just from a campfire. Yet, memories of the burning village persisted.
Children on fuzzy ponies alongside barking dogs raced out to greet us.
I urged Ozlow to hurry through them, unwilling to watch the joy and grief about to spill forth. But their cries still pierced my back like a dozen arrows.
I took my time putting Ozlow in the paddock and caring for him as Nikella had taught me. I’d discovered that my horse loved to be brushed, especially along his strong neck.
The others tended to their horses as well, but hurried toward the bonfires, where the smell of cooked meat beckoned.
