"No." Jeid shook his head. "No, Father. You will lead us. Don't leave. Now is not your time."

"I fly now to the stars, my son." Eranor's eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Tanin. Maev. Come closer. Be with me."

They all crowded around him, holding on to the old man, tears in their eyes.

Eranor gave a last smile. "I fly now to the Draco constellation. I fly to those we lost. I—"

His eyes closed.

His breath died.

Jeid lowered his head, pulled his father to his chest, and held him close for a long time.

The last leaves of autumn scuttled across the hills, and the first snow began to fall, when Jeid buried his father. Wind fluttered his fur cloak as he stood above the grave. A third boulder rose here, a third tombstone coated in moss. By it lay the two other graves—the young Vir Requis who had lost his leg, a stranger and yet one of their family, and an older grave overrun with ivy, the grave of his daughter. Of Requiem.

"I don't know how many more will die for our tribe," Jeid said, throat tight. He clenched his fists at his sides. "But I will fight on."

He looked at the others who stood around him, faces pale, eyes cold. His people. His tribe. The ones he loved.

Maev had refused a cloak of fur. She stood in a simple tunic, her arms bare, displaying her coiling dragon tattoos. Snow frosted her golden hair. No tears filled her eyes, and as always, her bottom lip was thrust out in defiance. As always, bruises and scratches covered her. Yet Jeid knew that beneath that stony exterior lay pain, love, and hope. The young woman stared down at the grave, chin raised, a well of tears hiding behind stone walls.

Tanin stood at her side, his eyes red, snow filling his shock of brown hair. The tall young man wrapped his fur cloak more tightly around himself. His lips whispered silent prayers or perhaps goodbyes. The juggler turned warrior—now a man grieving.

I never wanted this life for you, my children, Jeid thought. I wanted you to grow up in safety, a true roof over your heads, a life without fear, without pain.

Perhaps this day he grieved for his children—for their life of exile and bloodshed—as much as for his fallen father.

The new members of his tribe stood here too. Sena—slender, his cheeks soft—stood wrapped in a cloak, pale with frost. He stared down at the grave, silent, thoughtful. Laira stood at his side, holding his hand.

You too are my family now, Jeid thought, looking upon them. I will fight for all of you.