The first traces of dawn were creeping over the plain. A glimmer of light on the undersides of the towering clouds and along the edges of the ancient stones, a muddy flare on the eastern horizon. A sight a man rarely saw, that first grey glow, or one that Jezal had rarely seen anyway. At home he would have been safely in his quarters now, sleeping soundly in a warm bed. None of them had slept last night. They had spent the long, cold hours in silence, sitting in the wind, peering into the dark for shapes out on the plain, and waiting. Waiting for the dawn.

Ninefingers frowned at the rising sun. 'Almost time. Soon they'll be coming.'

'Right,' muttered Jezal numbly.

'Listen to me, now. Stay here, and watch the cart. There's plenty of 'em, and more than likely some will get round the back of us. That's why you're here. You understand?'

Jezal swallowed. His throat was tight with the tension. All he could think about was how unfair it was. How unfair, that he should die so young.

'Alright. Me and her will be round the front of the hill there, in around the stones. Most of 'em will come up that way, I reckon. You get in trouble, you shout for us, but if we don't come, well… do what you can. Might be we're busy. Might be we're dead.'

'I'm scared,' said Jezal. He hadn't meant to say it, but it hardly seemed to matter, now.

Ninefingers only nodded, though. 'And me. We're all scared.'

Ferro had a fierce smile on her face as she tightened the straps of her quiver around her chest, pulled the buckle on her sword-belt one notch further, dragged on her archery guard and worked her fingers, twanged at her bow-string, everything neat, and quick, and ready for violence. While she prepared for a fight that would most likely be the death of them all, she looked as Jezal might have done dressing for a night round the taverns of Adua. Yellow eyes shining, excited in the half light, as if she couldn't wait to get started. He had never seen her look happy before. 'She doesn't look scared.' he said.

Ninefingers frowned over at her. 'Well, maybe not her, but she's not an example I'd want to follow.' He watched her for a moment. 'Sometimes, when someone lives in danger for too long, the only time they feel alive is when death's breathing on their shoulder.'

'Right,' muttered Jezal. The sight of the buckle on his own sword-belt, of the grips of his own steels, so proudly polished, made him feel sick now. He swallowed again. Damn it, but his mouth had never been so full of spit.

'Try to think about something else.'

'Like what?'

'Whatever gets you through it. You got family?'