Hoofbeats clattered between the tents, and lamplight gleamed on polished horseflesh as a pony rounded the tent, muscles surging as it was drawn up short in a scatter of pebbles. A swarthy face; Zaki, Makneen’s second-in-command, peered down at his feet, studiously avoiding eye contact.

“Meat ready, Dream-stalker,” the Rukhar offered in broken common. “You eat?”

“No.” Sitting straight-backed, Ushahin did not rise. “Thank you, Zaki.”

After a moment, the Rukhar shrugged. “Makneen offer. Is good, yes? You are pleased? Not to trouble sleep?”

“It is well done, Zaki. We are allies. I will not trouble your dreams.” Ushahin watched as the Rukhar shrugged again, then lashed his pony’s rump with trailing reins, startling it into a galloping spurt. The Rukhari feared him. Well and good; they should. He resumed his vigil, watching the darkening verge of the forest.

Time passed.

A half moon rose and the stars emerged, and brightest of them was the red one, high above the horizon.

“Brother.”

A grey voice, emerging from darkness. It named him in the tongue of Oronin’s Children, which he had spoken seldom since childhood. Ushahin rose, straightening his stiffening joints and inclining his head. “Brother,” he replied in kind. “Well met by moonlight.”

There was a gleam, as of bared teeth. “I do not think so. Follow.”

Follow he did, leaving the illuminated tents behind, traveling on foot over the stony soil. Ahead of him, a grey shadow moved low to the ground, silent but for the occasional click of claw on stone. On and onward they traveled, until the lamps of Jakar were distant sparks and the forest enveloped them.

Into the tall pines his guide led him, leaving behind the beaten paths and treading on soft pine mast, to a glade where moonlight spilled on silvery fur, and one awaited in a circle of many. By this alone, by the honor the pack accorded her, he knew her.

“Old mother.” Ushahin bowed low. “I give you honor.”

“Son of my self.” Ritual words, devoid of affection. Vashuka the Grey Dam stood upright and her amber eyes were narrowed in the moonlight, A score of dim figures crouched around her, hackled and wary. “The Grey Dam Sorash gave you a sacred trust. Why have you used it to summon me here, so near to a place of Men?”

“Honored one, forgive me.” He felt sick, the brand on his chest a searing pain. “Oronin’s Children are my kin, but I have sworn a deeper oath.”

Her lip wrinkled, exposing her canines, still white. “Satoris.”

“To my Lord Satoris, yes” Ushahin drew a deep breath. trying to loosen his chest. Where were the ravens? The trees should be full of them; were empty instead. He reached out with his thoughts, and a low, concerted growl came from the crouching circle of Were. “Brethren! Has it come to this?”