When Raem tried to remove his son from the throne, the nephil hissed and snapped his teeth. His fangs drove into Raem's new arm, but he felt no pain. He placed the prince in his mother's grip. The child nursed at the stone breast, the lava flowing down his throat. Raem sat down, leaned back in his throne, and lovingly gazed upon his family.

LAIRA

 
LAIRA

Laira stood in the dawn before the communal grave below the mountain. Boulders topped the hill of crumbly earth, one per vanquished life. Over a hundred souls lay buried here at the foothills, Two Skull Mountain forever watching over their rest. Tribesmen of Goldtusk. Tribesmen of Leatherwing. Many of their mounts, dear Neiva among them. Grass rustled around this hill of mourning, and birds sang overhead. The sky was clear, the air fresh, but forever this would be a place of grief for Laira.

"Goodbye, Neiva," she whispered, the wind streaming through her hair and fur cloak. "Goodbye, my husband."

She lowered her head, the pain grabbing and squeezing her heart. She had married Chieftain Oritan to forge an alliance, to bring aid to Requiem, not for love. In his bed, however, she had found the bud of that love, found a man who was strong and mighty yet gentle, loving, kind. She would forever remember how he had gazed into her eyes years ago, treating her—a mere servant—as an equal. And she would never forget marrying him, sharing a life with him if only for a day.

Goodbye.

She turned from the grave to look at those standing behind her. The tribes of Goldtusk and Leatherwing, down to half their size, watched her with solemn eyes—men, women, children. The wind ruffled hair, feathers, and fur cloaks. All were silent, staring, awaiting her words.

The world was so silent, Laira didn't even have to raise her voice for them all to hear.