They left the tent together. Upon the mountainside stood the two tribes. The Goldtusks stood to Laira's left, lower upon the slope, clad in fur, bones, and beads, their beards long, their bronze armor bright. To Laira's right, higher up on the mountain, stood the Leatherwing tribe; they had no bronze, but they wore armor of bone and boiled leather, and apes' skulls hid their faces. In a small cluster ahead stood the Vir Requis, twenty in all—haggard, wearing only tattered wool and fur. As she walked forward, Laira did not know who her people were, who she was. Was she a princess of Eteer, seeking a new home? Was she a daughter of Goldtusk? Was she a new bride of Leatherwing?

She raised her eyes and found Jeid staring at her across the mountain path. His eyes were hurt, but she saw the love in them, and she remembered the first time she had met him, how he had healed her, how she had slept in his arms, how he had made her dream of dragons come true. And Laira knew: My home is Requiem. I may wear the clothes of Goldtusk, and I may be a bride of Leatherwing, and I may be an exiled princess of Eteer . . . but I am only one thing. A Vir Requis. What I do today I do for Requiem. She looked into her king's eyes. Even if I hurt you, Jeid.

Two scrimshawed mammoth tusks rose ahead, forming an arch. Strings of beads, dried animal hearts, and raven skulls hung from them, swaying in the wind, symbols of fertility and fortune. Laira approached the ivory archway, walking slowly, all eyes upon her. Lokania walked ahead of her, holding her jeweled bowl, sprinkling droplets of ram's blood with every step. The blood stained Laira's bare feet as she walked, blessing her path toward her new lord. The ram who had given this gift burned in a fire pit upon the mountain, its smoke rising to curl around Goldtusk's totem pole, a sacrifice to Ka'altei. A second fire burned higher up near the mountaintop, its smoke thicker and darker—a young woman of Leatherwing, given alive to the flame, a sacrifice to the cloud-gods of Two Skull Mountain.

Thus do I buy hope for Requiem, Laira thought, eyes stinging from the smoke or perhaps from her grief. With the life of a ram and the life of a girl.