"These are the wrong stakes…" Boph raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you tonight, Elspeth?"
Elsie glanced down at the short tent pegs in her hands and sighed. "One of the tribals pickpocketed me."
Boph's laugh came deep and rolling. "You can't be serious. What did he take?"
Elsie frowned. "I took his friend's pouch—and then he took it back. I didn't even feel it."
"A professional?" Boph still chuckled as he fetched the proper stakes. "You sure he was a tribal?"
"Yes. He's got the look, the tattoos. But there's something off about him." Elsie paused, as though searching for the right word. "Like he's… invisible. My focus kept slipping every time I looked at him."
"Like a chaget?" Boph asked.
Elsie nodded slowly. "Exactly like that."
The chaget was a small, unremarkable creature—smaller than most mammals, plain in every way except one. It lived among crocodiles, slept beside them, and somehow never got eaten. No one knew why. Unless hunted by people, they lived long, peaceful lives. Some even claimed they were delicious.
"Ask Mamar about it," Boph suggested. "Could be something he does on purpose."
Elsie hummed in thought and nodded. "Maybe I will."
Meanwhile
Ai wiped sweat from her brow, resting her bow across her knees while watching the herd graze in the tall grass. She and Tam had drawn guard duty—unlucky timing, but only for four hours. Yena had joined them after stopping by the tents, her Redfox bow slung over her shoulder.
Tam swung down to pick a few wildflowers, then vaulted back into her saddle, weaving one into her hair. "You've been quiet, Yena. I heard you held your own during the ambush."
Ai nodded. "Yeah, word's been going around. You want to talk about it?"
Yena covered her face, her freckles standing out against her blush. "I… I kissed him."
Ai and Tam exchanged startled glances.
"Dem was comforting me," Yena went on quickly. "He was standing close, and it just… happened."
Ai stifled a laugh, her shoulders shaking. "I swear, what do they feed women in the Redfox clan to make them that bold?"
"I might kiss Telo," she added teasingly. "If given the chance."
Tam raised an eyebrow. "I was going to say that."
Yena dropped her hands, scandalized. "My dasai? You two can't be serious!"
Ai grinned. "Relax. It was a joke—mostly. But you already did the hardest part."
Tam nodded, her tone practical as ever while she worked another flower into her braid. "So what's the problem?"
Yena groaned, hiding her face again. "It was right after I got sick… you know."
There was a pause—and then Ai broke into loud laughter. "Oh no! Why didn't you wait?"
Tam nearly fell from her saddle, clutching her stomach. "At least drink some water first!"
Yena laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "I know! I know! Damn it."
The three of them dissolved into helpless laughter, their voices echoing over the grassland—warm, and unguarded with only the livestock as witness.
**
Dem closed his eyes and took another sip of soup from the large ceramic bowl Ai had given him. Handmade by his dasai, he held it as though it were precious—today, it was.
"So good…"
Yada watched her recently adopted son savor his meal, the sight stirring a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. "You like it?"
"I love it," Dem said, grinning. "How come you didn't make this yesterday?"
Yada reached over to ruffle his short, dark hair. "First-day fleet tastes best grilled. Second-day fleet is best in soup."
"Oh." Dem nodded thoughtfully, then paused mid-bite. "What about third-day fleet?"
Yada's smile deepened. "We give it to the camp dogs."
Laughter rippled through the campsite. Her mother—Dem's new grandmother by bond—exchanged a knowing look with her daughter. Losing Yada's husband two years earlier had devastated their small Swiftwind family, the tent heavy with quiet grief. But Dem's arrival had brightened it again; his presence pushed back the shadows one day at a time.
Dem looked up suddenly as a familiar figure walked through the Swiftwind entrance. "Wonder what she wants…"
Gram chuckled softly. "Enjoy the spring while it lasts."
"Huh? It's not spring," Dem said, confused. The two women only shared a knowing glance.
"Dem," Reyka said as she stopped in front of him, her voice careful but steady. Her pale braid swung over one shoulder, her fur-collared cape fluttering with each step. She looked every inch the Frostridge huntress—except for the faint nervousness in her eyes.
"Reyka," Dem greeted her. He'd spent the previous night drinking in mixed company, including the archer herself. Most of his attention, however, had been on Rave and Shiara—who, to his surprise, knew an alarming number of improper jokes.
"You're going to need archers in your sentry force," Reyka said, as if reciting lines she'd practiced. "I want to volunteer."
Dem's smile came easily. "Can you handle a spear?"
Reyka hesitated, then blushed. "Not really. I can, but it's not my focus. I'm the best archer in the Gathering."
Dem tilted his head. "Isn't Tam the best archer?"
Reyka's eyes narrowed, and she drew a slow breath through her nose. "Are you inviting her to the sentry force?"
Dem shook his head. "Tam's just under the age requirement."
Reyka straightened, determined. "Then… I could learn the spear."
Dem laughed. "No need. I'd already planned to ask you to be a Subchief in the Archer Odun."
Reyka blinked. "I don't know what that is."
"The Sentry force will be five groups of nine," Dem explained. "Each group's called an odun. The leader of each odun is a Subchief."
Reyka's smile returned, brighter now. "Wait—you were going to ask me?"
Dem nodded.
"Then why didn't you say so?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Were you teasing me?"
"Yes," Dem admitted, grinning. "Welcome to the Sentry force."
Reyka left almost immediately, her step lighter as she turned at the edge of the Swiftwind camp to wave goodbye.
Dem waved back with his spoon, then returned to his meal.
"This ought to be interesting," Yada murmured, her gaze shifting to the guards who were waving another visitor inside.
Dem didn't answer. He'd already sensed the young man's approach and simply waited.
"Dem."
Tier Whitehill stood near the cook fire, head bowed, voice uncertain. "I—uh—wanted to speak with you."
"Tier." Dem sipped his soup calmly. "Sentry force?"
Tier nodded, still staring at the ground.
"You're in," Dem said, looking up as relief washed over the young man's face.
"I am?" Tier blinked, taken aback. "That's… good. Thank you. I'll let you finish your meal."
Dem gave a small nod, watching him go. "He's a fast walker," he noted dryly.
"More soup?" Yada offered, ladling before he could protest.
"Thank you," Dem said, accepting it. When he noticed both women watching him, he paused mid-bite. "What?"
"That was surprising," Gram said. "Given your history with Tier Whitehill."
Dem shrugged. "One thing has nothing to do with the other. By all accounts, he's the best spear of his generation."
Yada smiled, clearly pleased. "It speaks well of you to start fresh."
"I agree," came a familiar voice.
The white-painted shaman approached from her tent, bowl in hand and a playful smile on her face. "I could smell the fleet soup from my tent."
"Dosu," Dem greeted her warmly.
The shaman's stern look lasted only a few seconds. "Didn't we agree you'd only call me that when no one else was around?"
"Did we?" Dem's tone was all innocence. His eyes flicked toward the camp entrance. "Telo's here."
Yada took his bowl with a knowing smile. "Go on. Have fun. I'll handle this."
Dem leaned down, kissed her cheek, and trotted toward the Swiftwind gate. "Thanks for the soup!"
Yada shook her head fondly, watching him go. "He really does brighten this tent."