The Allunga clan was nearly twice as big as the Avolayla. The old of the Allunga were older, the babies more numerous. The clan’s route was a good one, and their herds were large. They stayed in the eastern interior, far away from slavers. Halaavi sang one of vis walking songs as we approached camp. The runners ran ahead. Brown faces peeked out of yurts and around the sheltered sides of the cooking tents. A clutch of elves a generation older than myself and Halaavi—the Nalunghai—snapped to attention. Some of the Allunga sang back to Halaavi. Others stared at me. That clutch of four Nalunghai were the only ones to approach us. The person leading the way was tall and sharp-jawed. Ve had skin like polished wood and an untamed fierceness around the eyes. “Avolayla Vrala Ariah.”

“Yes?” Laavi’s walking song petered out. The Allunga drank in the silence.

“I am Allunga Nalunghai Koro.”

Halaavi looked over. “Koro the Echo?” Koro nodded. Laavi frowned slightly. “You are the one with news for Ariah?”

“I am.”

“Are you sure this is news for me?” I asked. I didn’t want it to be. I wanted it to be a mistake. Who would have news for me but the Exalted’s Army? Who besides the Butcher of the East was out looking for me? I felt my fear rise and rise and overflow, pouring out of me and into Halaavi and the nearby Allunga. I had visions of the Avolayla in chains and their livestock slaughtered and left rotting on the plains, all because they’d had the kindness to take in a stray.

“It may not be for you,” Koro said, “but we have not yet met another this news might belong to. You will know, once you hear it, if this is news for you or not. You must be hungry. Are you thirsty?”

“I…” I stole a glance at Halaavi. “If you would not mind, I would like to hear the news first.”