Prologue
Soren let his arm fall back to his side as his brothers disappeared into the distance, their wings twitching excitedly at the prospect of a good hunt. With a sniff, he sat back down, considering what all he and Kiri needed to do before the others returned.
They’d need to haul water from the river and get some boiling; the camp itself could use some tidying, especially Diar’s area; and—
His ears swiveled at the sound of something suspiciously like a hiccup. Looking down, he beheld Kiri sitting cross-legged in the tall grass, half-finished braids of picked stems strewn about his lap and his nose twitching to hold back tears.
“Why can’t I go with them,seska-ab?” Kiri muttered, his dejection clear.
Soren sighed and ruffled Kiri’s short mane. “You know how it is.Binturtake care of camp whileabkahunt.”
“They don’t want to hunt with me,” Kiri lamented. “It’s because I’m small, isn’t it?”
It was true that Kiri was the youngest of their group—by quitea lot. Only a few years separated Balar from Soren and Soren from Akila and Akila from Diar, but they were all double Kiri’s tender nine years. He’d had siblings and cousins his own age when they still lived within the Gurunkun pride, but the five of them had left that life months ago now.
Because of Soren. And because of Kiri, although Soren would never admit it.
“No.”
“Then it must be my leg.”
Soren’s grip tightened, and he turned Kiri by the head to look at him. “That’s not true,” he growled, maybe too roughly.
“Yes it is,” Kiri argued, trying to work his fingers around Soren’s.
The pride always scorned weakness, and Kiri had been born a small, sickly cub with a leg that was shorter than the other. Soren too had been small and weak, but his sin was far greater. With his first breath, Soren had committed the ultimate crime, for which there was no atonement. His birth had caused the death of his mother; it was said her blood had stained his mane dark and driven histuruk, the inner beast all mantii possessed, mad with grief.
Soren would’ve been cast out long ago were it not for Balar. As the second son of the prideerez—and Soren’s elder brother by their father and cousin by their mothers—Balar’s word and protection carried much weight. It still shocked Soren that Balar and the others had decided to join him in exile; while not guaranteed, Balar stood a strong chance of leading their pride when his mother passed.
He’d given it up for the unknown. For Soren and Kiri.
It was a reality and a debt Soren had yet to resolve. Although Soren’s life had always been one apart, facing exile alone would’ve broken something in him. To have Balar and the others…it was a great comfort to him. Without theircompanionship, Soren may very well have become a lonely, embittered soul, resentment at his lot left to fester.
They were here now because of a simple mistake. Although it’d been made by Kiri, the cub not watching the fires closely enough, Soren had taken the blame without question. He was accustomed already to bearing hardship, and, critically, he was grown. Kiri’s age wouldn’t have mattered, and he wouldn’t have survived banishment. So Soren had accepted the responsibility and the consequences.
Kiri was far too young for exile and most certainly to watch the fires by himself. That mistake had brought about a devastating wildfire, and blame should have been laid at many feet. The wind was to blame, as were the cousins who’d left Kiri alone. The years of drought that sucked the very life from the plants bore some responsibility, as did theerezwho allowed so much bullying in her pride.
Soren had taken all their blame, though. The wounds on his face, given to him by theerez,were barely scarred over. It was said that the cut of anereznever really healed.
Peering at Kiri, Soren worried that that heavy day weighed on the cub’s mind.
“It’snot,” Soren insisted. “You know they’re just greedy for glory. If they take you along, they know you’ll best them.”
Kiri snorted with disbelief, his wings with their downy fluff bobbing. “Liar.”
Soren growled. “You’re calling yourseska-aba liar?”
Kiri’s ears lay flat against his head in contrition. “No,” he said with a wince. “Sorry.”
Soren bit back his own wince.Kud, now Kiri was unhappy and embarrassed. Soren had never been very good with others, yet he’d vowed to himself the day of their exile that he’d look out for Kiri. As Balar had for him. As he should’ve that day of the fire.
Pulling at his ear, a nervous habit he wished he could break, Soren considered what to do. They had camp chores, but they could spare a few minutes, he supposed.
Grabbing Kiri by the leg, he tugged until the cub was hanging upside down.
“Hey! What—”
“You’ve been wanting to train, right? Try and sneak up on me.”
