“The Challenge,” said Pashla, “is a right of anyone with Makvani blood. The humans you lived with have a layered society. Those born poor are doomed to subservience. It’s different with us. Not all our clan members have equal status, but no matter what rank we hold in the clan, we can always petition the clan leader for our right to Challenge. It’s a fight to the death, and the clan honors the outcome.”

Pashla paused, fingering one of her new scars. “The Challenge is sacred, but some will bend it to their purposes. Brona and I had long been enemies for…various reasons. The Challenge was a way to get me out of the way, or at least dishonor me if I refused to fight.”

“So you could have refused. You didn’t have to risk your life for me.”

Pashla shrugged, her face serene in the moonlight. “Dying in Challenge is an honorable death. And Brona had always been overconfident.”

Over the next few days, Kyra started noticing patterns. Late morning and early afternoon were quiet, and the clan woke when the sun set. As Kyra became more attuned to signs of their presence, she glimpsed them moving through the trees at night and in the early mornings, though they never came close. She asked Pashla why the others never approached her.

“They watch, but they are wary,” she said. “In time, they will come.”

One evening, two young clanswomen wandered within view of her shelter. Kyra watched them from where she rested, eyes half closed in the semi-drowsy state that still overtook her waking hours. To her surprise, they didn’t disappear back into the trees, but came closer. They looked about her age. One clanswoman was tall with large eyes and wispy brown hair that curled around a slender neck. The other was smaller, with pale, almost white skin that contrasted with her straight black hair. The two approached cautiously but deliberately. Like Pashla, they moved with Makvani grace, although they didn’t have Pashla’s air of quiet confidence. Kyra finally roused herself and climbed to her feet.

“You are Kyra, the halfblood,” said the taller one.

“I am,” Kyra said warily.

“I am Mela, and this is Adele.”

For a moment, they stood without speaking. “We brought you some berries,” Adele finally said. She took a handful out of a pouch around her neck and held them out.

The two of them didn’t look hostile, and Kyra opened her hands, letting Adele dump the berries into her palms. She paused, completely at a loss about Makvani etiquette. “Would you like to join me?” she finally asked.