There is a name for lycans who stray away from their hunt in the desert: It means lone wolf. Such a title leaves a mark for life, for the lycan is never able to return to their clan. To leave the clan is an act of hubris.
Barghast was an exile, a drifter in an alien land that abhorred his people. He’d traded a life under the blistering sun in the desert for a nomadic life in the north. So far his quest had yet to bear fruit, but he was determined to find what he was looking for. I will not stop until I find my guide in this strange and beautiful land. Gaia wills it and so it shall be.
He walked along the road, following the tracks left by carts and horses. Few dared to travel on foot the way he did. He walked stolidly, in no hurry to get to where he was going, nor did he have a specific direction. He had absolute faith that he would find his guide; his twin’orre.
Though he had been traveling this road for weeks, Barghast never tired of the land’s splendor. Here there were colors beyond description. Everything covered in the white grip of winter. Hues of brown in one glance, green the next. And the smells. The smell of rich soil. The smell of rain, ever present in the air. This land could not be more different from the one he’d abandoned.
The cool air felt soothing against flesh that had only known relentless heat. His blood allowed him to walk through the snow barepawed, impervious to the cold. If anything the cold felt good against the pads of his paws. It is my clan who are the fools by trapping themselves in the desert. They would rather remain ignorant and stuck in their ways than explore these mountains.
The thunder of hooves alerted Barghast to the first human presence he’d seen in three days. His ears swiveled in the direction of the sound. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth, happy to see a sign of civilization, even if it was only fleeting. His tail wagged. The whine of friendly welcome he’d been ready to greet them with turned into a snarl of worry that wormed its way up his throat; he sunk his teeth into the meat of his tongue hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. The silver banners only meant one thing: danger to his people - danger to any lycan who dared to stray away from the desert. The growl vibrated in his chest, unbidden. Reason and sense were no match for primal instinct.
He stopped, hunkering, searching for cover but there was nowhere to go. His fur stood on end. He felt his muscles tense with the instinct to attack, sensing danger in the air. He reminded himself that in this new land he was not the predator, he was the prey and he was on his own. The riders with their silver banners would not flee from him the way coyotes and hyenas had in the desert. He fought to regain control of his body.
The riders sped up, kicking up white clouds of snow, voices carrying over the frigid air. The lead rider yanked on the reins, drawing his mount to a stop beside the Okanavian. He looked at Barghast with crafty green eyes beneath the brim of his helmet. Despite the lycan’s height, he seemed unafraid. Barghast knew the smell of fear and he did not sense it around any of these men.
“My, my, my,” Green Eyes said, smiling. “We are a long way from home, aren't we?”
The Okanavian's ears twitched, straining to make sense of the foreign words, spoken from a language so unlike his own. The scout’s lips tilted in a mocking grin. Mind spinning, Barghast did the least offensive thing he could do: he stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth and lowered his head with a submissive wine. This is your land and I am just a visitor. I come in peace, the gesture said. He glanced in the direction of the other two men. They hung back respectively behind Green Eyes, their faces remote. Barghast had no doubt he could defeat them. He was a lycan. Only one thing stopped him. If I kill them, they will never stop chasing me and I will never find my Twin o’rre. He clasped his paws together, a universal gesture of benevolence. There was no sense in trying to explain his reason for being here. He tried with gestures, waving towards the road.
This earned him a laugh from Green Eyes. “You wouldn't have happened to see a certain practitioner coming this way by any chance?” Green Eyes asked.
Barghast cocked his head to the side. I don’t understand you.
“No,” Green Eyes said flippantly, “I suppose you haven't. We’ve been tracking him for a few days. Just when we think we have him, he slips away. He’s elusive...slippery as an eel. I suppose you'll have to serve as our entertainment for the time being.”
So focused was he on the face, the expression in those narrow green eyes, Barghast didn't see the soldier’s hand sneak for the pouch at his side. Now the hand came darting out, shooting towards Barghast, flinging something in his face.
A howl of agony ripped its way out of Barghast’s throat. Hot knives stabbed into his eyes. Silver! He fell to his knees, wiping at his eyes - anything to clear the powder away. Blinded, he could hear their laughter. The darkness awoke in him a childlike fear that had followed him to the cusp of adulthood: not just the dark itself, but the things darkness obscured. Now he was at their mercy and he knew Green Eyes had no intentions of being merciful with him.
“Stop it!” a low voice said, close enough Barghast felt the speaker’s breath brush his whiskers. Barghast knelt in the snow, in a region of the world that had only treated him with hostility thus far. He couldn’t stop a whine from escaping him. He trembled, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. He clamped down on the thought. Doubt was a boon to determination. Doubt was a boon to faith. Gaia, forgive me. I am a foolish pup. Your Twin o’rre is waiting for you. He needs you to be brave. He needs you to fight.
A snarl built in his throat. He rose to his paws. He may be blind for the moment but this did not mean he was fully without his senses. He could smell them: the sharp acrid reek of their bodies from weeks on the road, spiced with gunpowder and spirits. He could hear their hearts rattling in their bone cages. He could feel the beast inside him straining to break free once more. Barghast did not fight to keep it at bay. The juices in his throat thickened, lips peeling -
Boom!
A sharp crack split the air.
An instant later pain dropped him to his knees. A speck of light lit the dark like a flare. Through a porous screen he watched the wound smoke and sizzle. He’d been shot with a silver bullet. Green Eyes stood before him so that the black eye of a rifle hovered an inch from his muzzle. “Stop,” he barked.
Barghast heard the command in the voice, a command that made the meaning of the word clear even though it was unfamiliar to him. He would not stop until they riddled him with bullets. Until his heart ceased and the impulses in his brain died. He tried to stagger to his feet only to feel the butt of the rifle slam into his muzzle with enough force to knock his head back. Fresh stars exploded across his restored vision.
The other two scouts made hooting sounds of pleasure. This is a game to them, he thought. Let's Gang Up on the Lycan! Their shadows fell across him, rail-thin against the snow. He had enough time to suck in a breath before he felt the butt of a second rifle slam into his stomach. The air in his lungs exploded out of the Okanavian with a woosh.
A second crack.
This time the pain exploded in his shoulder, fresh-searing hot. Barghast had no choice but to submit his body to the earth. Already he could feel his muscles locking up. The scouts were not done with him. They kicked at him. They raked him with their spurs until blood ran freely down his chest. They slammed the butts of their rifles into his face until both eyes were completely swollen shut. He no longer had the strength to ward them off. He flickered in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of unintelligible conversation from the scouts. They’d ceased beating him for the time being. They’re trying to decide how to kill me.
Momentary relief came to him in the form of thoughtless darkness. The relief was short-lived. Hands jerked at his leg roughly, lifting a paw into the air. Unable to move. Unable to fight them off. Not caring. It was a mistake to come here. It was a mistake to listen to the seer’s words. What must Father think of you? What of your mothers? Your siblings? They’re probably all talking about you, what a foolish pup you are. As if you’re worth talking about. As if you’re not already dead to them.
Someone tied a hank of rope around his ankle.
“Yah!”
The snapping of reins. The answering bellow of a horse.
The rope snapped taut.
When the ground began to scrape flesh from bone everything went black once more.
…
The black was not an empty black. The seer waited for him, her golden eyes like beacons. Guiding him. Gaia is always with you. I am always with you. She sat at the center of the cave, smoking spices from a pipe made of bone. She rings carved from ivory on her digits. She sat on a quilt stitched together from the furs of desert wolves, foxes, and mountain lions. Her tail tapped lightly against the floor. It was Okanavi tradition to keep a part of your prey. Both a respect and a form of penance.
“You doubt me,” she said in a voice as old as the mountains themselves. Her flesh hung off the bone in folds; still she would live a thousand years if a greater force didn’t intervene. “You feel shame in this. You feel resentment. You feel I’ve led you astray.”
Barghast chose to let his silence speak for him.
The seer gave him a familiar penetrating look that made the lycan feel as if he were made of glass. “You only need to look inside yourself to know I speak the truth. From the day you were a young pup you’ve always looked to the mountains, wishing you could look beyond them. You’ve always known you were never meant to take your father's place as clan leader when he steps down. He always knew it too, which is why he always pushed you so hard.”
“How can you say that when I’ve been beaten to death! When I am dead?” the lycan demanded.
The seer’s eyes flickered in the gloom. “You are not dead. I am sure you’ll wish you were when you wake up. I warned you this journey would not be easy. I warned this land would take much from you. Gaia does not give gifts freely. She does not give without taking and what she wants is never easy to give.”
“What does she want?” Barghast asked.
“What do all women want?” the seer asked with a cackle. “Your devotion. Fear not, Barghast. Your twin o’rre is closer than you think. Your paths are but moments from colliding. You only need to remain steadfast over the next few moments. Soon the pain will end.”
Barghast felt an invisible paw tug his mind in the direction of his body. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay here in the cave where it was safe and familiar. Where he didn’t suffer humiliation after humiliation. He knew this could not be so. There cannot be faith without devotion.
“How will my twin o’rre know it is me if he can’t even bear to look at my face?” he rumbled.
The seer snarled. “As ever you are an impatient pup. He will know it's you not by look, but through spirit. He will not be able to understand your alien tongue just as you will not be able to understand this. Your bond will be formed through gestures and intent and actions. Your time is up, pup, Gaia calls to you to fulfill your duty. Remember to be patient with your twin o’rre. Protect him. Gaia would not have sent you on this path if it were not meant to be…”
There came a final great tug. The seer and the cave shrunk down to pinpoints of light until they existed not all. For a heart-stopping moment Barghast felt himself fall through the endless darkness of the Void. His body in free fall, searching for the end of a pit that went on forever. Kicking and scrabbling with nothing to hold onto. Then with a rushing sensation he crashed back into his body.
Disorientation. A body as heavy and unyielding as stone. He tried to lift his head. A burning ache sprang through his neck, making him wince. His arms were bound at his side. He couldn’t move them. Starbursts of pain everywhere: his back, his shoulders, his leg from where he’d been shot. Slowly he opened his eyes, afraid to see what had been done to him.
Slowly his vision regained focus.
At some point while he’d been unconscious, the scouts had lassoed him to the back of a horse and dragged him into the clearing of a wooded area. Now he was bound to a tree by several thick hanks of rope. He could see the outlines of the scouts silhouetted by firelight. They sat on pallets, passing a bottle of spirits back and forth, unaware that Barghast was awake.
Through slitted eyes, Barghast scanned the wooden bones of the trees for something that could help him escape. A flicker of movement to his left. His heart sped up, eyes straining to follow the passage of movement. His ears swiveled in the direction of the bushes. Sure enough something darted silently from behind a tree: a slight human figure, hunched low. Had Barghast been anything but a lycan he would have missed the presence entirely.
A pale face rose above the bushes just behind the scouts.
Barghast’s heart sped up. He opened his muzzle to call out to the figure - is that you, my twin o’rre? - but the scouts had stuffed something in his mouth to keep him from speaking. He struggled against his restraints. Never mind the scouts. Never mind the pain. Never mind that his flesh had been scrubbed from his back. Never mind that he’d been shot, blinded by silver. Never mind he’d almost ruined everything by doubting seer. By doubting Gaia.
Gaia, forgive me. I am a foolish pup.
He strained against his bindings even as every inch of his body screamed in protest. His attempt to break free gained unwanted attention. “What do we have here?” a familiar voice crooned.
Again the words were unfamiliar; the tone wasn’t. When you heard this voice you knew pain was soon to follow. Green Eyes stood paces away from him, the bottle of spirits in hand. The darkness made him appear smaller, but Barghast knew never to judge anything by size again. You thought you were invincible but he took you down with a handful of silver and a few bullets.
Movement from the bushes again. Barghast glanced over just in time to see the pale disk recede back into the shadows.
“No, twin o’rre!” Barghast screamed around the gag. Never mind if his savior couldn't hear him or understand him. I don’t want to die here. Not like this. I don’t want to hurt anymore. “Come back!”
Green Eye’s voice drew his attention back from the bushes. He’d drawn his rifle, bayonet flashing from the end of the muzzle. He took a step towards the tree. Stopped. Eyes narrowing in consideration. What way do I want to inflict pain next? those eyes said. All too easily Barghast could imagine Green Eyes piercing him with the blade. Poking holes in him until he bled out. And I can't do anything to stop him. That's the point. I’m nothing more than an animal to him. I'm nothing more than entertainment. The black rise of despair rose up inside him. Not even the stars who watched from a careless night sky had hope to offer. He whined. Tears of misery burned his eyes.
“Lycan scum! You should have stayed under the desert sun where you belong!”
The bottle arched through the air before slamming against the lycan’s chest. It shattered on impact. Glass shards tore flesh from the bone. He closed his eyes against the pain, wishing darkness would take him once more. Only this time darkness was not so close at hand. It had abandoned him in his greatest time of need. Just end it, he wanted to beg. Stop toying with me and just end it.
This was his final thought before the shape he’d glimpsed earlier stepped out from behind the trees. A slight black shape made of shadow and utterly separate from it. It crept up behind the unwitting soldiers, clad in black, its pale face hidden beneath the rim of a cowl. Only the eyes were visible and they burned like white coins. A wraith of justice come to save him. A wraith of vengeance come to make them pay. At last his guide was here and not a moment too late. In its hands the wraith carried a long staff. The sigils carved in the wood glowed with the promise of fire. Barghast rejoiced privately. Silently. His heart quickened in anticipation.
“Get away from him!” the wraith shouted. His voice shattered the silence. The scouts scattered, reaching for their rifles. Barghast strained against his bindings harder than ever. Never before had he been this helpless. Up until now he was used to being at the top of the food chain. Be careful, Twin o’rre. Barghast resisted the urge to close his eyes in the hope that he could transmit the thought to the wraith.
He needn’t have worried. The wraith did not make the same mistakes the Okanavian had. He moved quickly, flitting in and out of focus at will. He leapt out from a billowing screen of smoke; the end of his staff unleashed volleys of fire at his will. It made the earth shake all around them. Barghast held his breath, unable to look away. One of the scouts fell beneath a striking blow from the staff. The wraith appeared in the center of the clearing, suffused in a blaze of light; all around him the clearing burned. Fresh waves of sweat oozed from Barghast’s pores. There was no getting away from the heat.
A scream of warning caught in the Okanavian’s throat as Green Eyes aimed at the wraith with his rifle. “Practitioner bastard!” the scout roared. The rifle kicked back from the discharge. Barghast’s heart plummeted. He expected to see the wraith go down from the shot, but the wraith was on the move once more.
The flash of a small dagger appeared in the wraith’s hand. It sprung through the air. The end of its robes flapped behind it like wings. Still those eyes blazed white-hot. The blade sliced through the air with an audible hiss that made Barghast go still. He watched wide-eyed, disbelieving. Green Eyes halted in the middle of the clearing, close enough the Okanavian could see the look of shock on the scout’s face. The look of defeat on a man who has believed their whole life they will always win, they will always survive…only to be made a fool. He fell in a spreading pool of his own blood. Check to make sure he’s dead. Men like him never die. They always have to win. They always have to be the one on top. There’s still one more scout…
The third and final scout was not like the others. He was not courageous. He sprinted through the trees, feet crashing over the snow, clumsy gait. The wraith gave chase.
For the first time since Barghast had seen the scouts coming down the road, he was alone. No one beated him. No one cursed him in a tongue he couldn’t understand. He only noticed the pain he felt in a vague way. Already it was becoming a permanent fixture in the background. He could feel himself beginning to sink into blessed darkness. Into sweet relief. My twin o’rre is here, he thought. My guide through this mysterious land. He came just as the seer said he would. Just as Gaia promised.
The next time the Okanavian raised his head, the wraith was so close they could have touched. The wraith perched in the tree above his head, the bloody dagger he’d used to kill Green Eyes in hand. Now he used it to saw through the ropes, his breath coming out in short sharp little puffs that for some reason sounded pleasing to the lycan’s ears. It was certainly better than being laughed at. Cursed at. Shot at. It was a tiny sound. The sound of effort, not at all threatening. With each back and forth motion of the dagger, Barghast felt the blinding loosen. The Okanavian lifted his eyes upwards. It took the last dregs of his strength to do so but he was not unrewarded for his efforts. If he could have wagged his tail to show his thanks he would have done so, but he didn’t even have the strength to do that. He hated his twin o’rre meeting him for the first time in such a state. No wonder he’d thought about leaving him behind.
The hood of the black cloak had fallen back so Barghast could see that his wraith was very, very human. And young. White skin as pale as the snow itself. The hair on top of his head was as black as the night sky. Soft looking. The kind of hair you can’t help but want to run your fingers through. A long, slightly hooked nose - not unlike a bird’s beak. Soft, pink-looking lips puckered in concentration.
Barghast’s nose twitched. The wraith’s lips hovered before his skin. Barghast watched them, willing the wraith to duck his head a little closer so the lycan could feel the silk of those lips against his raw and broken flesh. It was an indulgent thought. He should have felt ashamed. It was his duty to protect his twin o’rre, just as it was his twin o’rre’s job to guide him through the mountains. Protect him from the world. Protect him from himself if need be.
Some protector I am. He’s the one who’s saved me. He’s the one who’s cutting me down from a tree. The thought made him want to tuck his tail between his legs. None of it mattered, the Okanavian told himself. He was allowed to rejoice in this small victory. His twin o’rre was here. Whatever came after would be dealt with when the time came. Curiosity made it unbearable to remain inside his skin. What did his hair feel like? His skin? Was his skin as soft as it looked? And those eyes. Blue eyes. Blue eyes like the sky when the sun was out. Not the same variations of amber bestowed upon all lycans. The seer was not lying when she said we would be reflections of each other in every way. He is light-skinned while I am dark-skinned. He’s from the cold mountains. I’m from the sweltering heat of the desert. I am covered in the fur of a beast and he has none. I have a tail and he doesn’t. This seemed right, this being matched in opposites. He shivered in anticipation, eager to explore what came next. The seer’s words came back to him, urging patience.
Rather than behave himself, Barghast sniffed the air silently in the hopes the wraith wouldn’t hear him. He closed his eyes, riding a wave of euphoric bliss. The smell of pine. Of clean mountain air. Soft fragrance. A hum of contentment escaped Barghast.
His guide muttered something under his breath. The pain that awaited him when he hit the ground yanked him back into consciousness.
Someone was poking a finger in his mouth. A very soft, very skinny finger.
Aware that he was resting on his back, Barghast remained very still. Surrounded by the soft fragrance of pine and mountain. If he opened his eyes to slits he knew he would find his twin o’rre hovering over him. Automatically, instinctively, Barghast’s tongue lapped at the tip of the wraith’s finger, suckling what it had to offer. The gesture was erotic only in his mind. Waves of something sweet washed over his tongue, cresting over the pain until he felt as if he rested on a pocket of air. Floating, light, listing. The finger gone from his mouth all too soon. No, stay here, he wanted to beg. Come back.
Instead the waves of euphoria spread through his body, soothing what ached, what stung, what burned, until he was aware of nothing else.
…
The lycan was alone again. Given what he had been through, this should have been a relief. It wasn’t.
At first the memories were so strong Barghast didn’t realize something was missing. The flash of white by the bushes. The well of hope that had ballooned in his chest, only to be snatched away when he’d thought his savior had abandoned him. Another, even greater swell of hope followed by panic. The feeling of that soft little finger in his muzzle bringing with it the taste of something sweet.
Emptiness. Stillness.
Eyes searching for what they desire. Hope a savage burn in his heart. Sniff the air in hopes his nose will catch a whiff of pine.
Nothing.
Loneliness. Disappointment.
He abandoned me here. He left me to rot.
The sting of hot tears in the eyes. Throat working against a sob he didn’t want to release. Because releasing it made the abandonment real.
The despair would not leave him when everything else had. It remained with him, an unwelcome guest. It sealed his eyelids shut. It clenched his belly into tight knots.
The despair turned into frustration, frustration into anger. Anger gave him motivation. Motivation gave him strength. Gave him the strength to rise to his paws. Gave him the strength to fight through teeth-gritting agony. Anger gave him the clarity to reframe his thoughts. He doesn’t know what I know. He doesn’t know that we are twin o’rre. I will find him. I will make him see. Make him understand. He would not stop until he found the wraith who had saved him from death. He would not stop until what remained of his body withered away and turned into dust.
The bodies laid where the wraith had left them, cooling beneath the belly of the moon. Nothing moved through the trees but for a low moaning wind that sent chills of relief across his lacerated cheeks. He raised his head, sniffed the air, searching for the special combination of scents. As if the wraith were made of the earth itself.
It didn't take Barghast long to find it. The wraith had left but moments ago, heading back in the direction of the highway. Barghast followed it. He felt his tail begin to wag in anticipation.
The journey was not an easy one. His back had been scraped raw from where the scouts had dragged him behind them on horseback. The wound on his chest smarted. The shoulder from where Green Eyes had shot him felt wrong, twisted out of socket. Yes, Gaia had taken much from him. Barghast wondered if he would recover. He wondered if he would live beyond this night.
He tried to think of what he would say to the wraith when he found him. We will not be able to understand each other. We come from a completely different culture, a different region of the world. Their union would have to be built slowly, painstakingly on a ground of trust, through actions and gestures, just as the seer had told him in his dreams.
Just before Barghast reached the last line of trees, the wraith’s trail veered east, pulling the lycan back into the woods. The wraith’s path through the trees was careful, meticulous. Were it not for his superior sense of smell, Barghast never would have been able to pick up his trail in the winter murk.
With every step he fought for, the wraith’s scent grew stronger, leading him on a meandering path through the woods. The thought of seeing his twin o’rre again gave him the strength to keep going even when his body wanted nothing more than to give up.
At last Barghast came to a second clearing. Through the last thin layers of trees he could make out the mouth of a cave. From its dark depths he detected the smell of smoke. Underneath it the smell of pine. The smell of nature. The smell of wet soil and misty rain. The wraith was inside the cave, Barghast knew this for sure. Nor was he asleep. The lycan could feel eyes watching him. His ears cocked in the direction of the cave. He thought he could hear the tic of the wraith’s heart racing. He inched cautiously towards the cave, not wanting to provoke a reaction. When the wraith did not come out to greet him, he stepped inside the cool interior. He couldn’t stop his tail from wagging in excitement.
The cave was a small one. It pleased him to think his twin o’rre was small enough he could fit inside. Perhaps not so pleasurable he would have to go in after him to make him understand. Barghast would not let this deter him. He knew how to squeeze himself into tiny spaces when he needed to. Ignoring the bite in his shoulder from where the bullet smarted, he tucked them in towards his chest. Ducking low, he wedged himself into the entrance of the cave.
A flame popped into life in the dark. There the wraith stood with his staff in hand, his eyes back to their state of dark blue. “Get back!” he raged. “You're not welcome here!”
Barghast could not go back even if he wanted to. His ruined body had carried him this far and would not carry him a step further. He did the only thing he could do: he begged. He knelt on the floor at the wraith's feet, clasped the folds of his robes in his paws and whined. He sobbed. He pleaded, knowing how monstrous his voice must sound to his fierce morsel of a wraith. He made sure not to pierce the wraith’s delicate looking flesh with his claws. “Gaia has led me to you through mountain ranges and over many miles. She has led me into these wicked lands to find you and at last I have. Do not desert me now, twin o’rre.”
The wraith pushed at him with tiny, fine long fingered hands. “No, no, no,” the wraith said in a voice that could only mean rejection. “You do not want to go where I'm going…”
Barghast clung to him, afraid of being abandoned after the distance he’d traveled to get here; a distance measured in pain. He pleaded shamelessly, kissing the wraith's hands while his entire body vibrated with fear and desperation. He licked the salt off the wraith’s hands. His ears remained flat against his head. How glad he was his clan - his mothers, his siblings and most of all his father - couldn’t see him crouching like a neutered pup. When the wraith left him in a kneeling position despair flooded him. He prayed to Gaia to remove the veil from his twin o’rre’s eyes. When he exited the cave he found the wraith looking up at the sky. Looking up in wonder at something only he could see. The sight of him coaxed the last dregs of hope from Barghast's shattered heart. Once more he fell at the wraith's knees, took his hand in his own and kissed the knuckles.. You will let me stay and together we will go on many adventures and slay many enemies.
All thoughts stopped when he felt the wraith's hand pat the spot between his ears. A soft hand. A cool hand. A balm to Barghast's always-hot skin. He was always hot which was why he loved the northern winds. The wraith's hand felt like a touch of cold rain on a burnt patch of ground and it stilled him. This time the wraith spoke gently, the weight of resistance falling from shoulders that had previously been tensed. At last his twin o’rre had given Barghast permission to stay.
Returning to the cave, the wraith backed away to a pallet he’d set on the floor by a man-made fire pit. The wraith gave him another long look, speaking in a voice that was hardly louder than a whisper, but firm. Though his accent was every bit as unfamiliar as Green Eyes’ had been, the meaning was clear: You can stay as long as you behave.
Barghast could have wept with relief if he wasn’t already all out of tears. He lowered himself onto the cool rock across from the wraith, too exhausted to care about the discomfort of resting on uneven ground. As sleep fell over him he thought not of the scouts or the suffering they’d inflicted on him but of the reward Gaia had given him for his devotion. Tomorrow something altogether new would begin.
