“Oh” is all she can think to say.

Evie can’t imagine a scenario in which they aren’t trampled over by the Skrain, but every soldier in their charge simply sweeps around them harmlessly as if Evie and the rest of the surviving Savages aren’t even there. For a moment she’s almost convinced she isn’t anymore, in fact. Perhaps she didn’t survive the battle, or perhaps the anonymity of her new station in life has spread that idea to every corner of her flesh, rendering her detached from the earthly plane.

Those lofty thoughts abandon her with the passing of Crache’s elite soldiers, the last of the Skrain running around them as if they were obstacles on a training field.

The last riders into the valley are Laython and his taskers. The black-clad freemaster of the Savages holds his mace high like some deathly victory scepter.

“Survivors, form on me!” he thunders across the valley. “Form on me if you’ve still got two legs!”

Evie peers around Bam’s hulking form. She counts perhaps two or three dozen Savages still upright, including Lariat and Mother Manai, and most of the B’ors tribe.

Though she never took a proper count, three or four hundred Savages must have charged the valley.

“So the sparrow survived her first battle!” Lariat calls to them in a voice like a gravel quarry at midday. “I should’ve ’ad my money on you, girl.”

He’s retrieved both of his katars, and there isn’t a single blade on his body harness that isn’t darkened with Sicclunan blood.

“Why didn’t you?” Evie asks.

“Not enough hips,” he answers without hesitation. “I never bet on a woman who hasn’t passed at least a few pups.”

“And I keep tellin’ him he’s a moron,” Mother Manai says, joining them.

“I’ve never once disagreed,” Lariat points out, laughing.

Evie’s almost inclined to join in, but something distracts her.

“Hey,” she says, pointing across the field. “What are they doing?”

Several of the B’ors warriors are carrying dead Sicclunan soldiers across the mud.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to take trophies.”

“That’s not what they’re doing, Sparrow,” Lariat assures her.

“Then what?”

“The B’ors look at their enemies a lot different from Crachians,” Mother Manai explains. “They honor the strongest of their opponents defeated in battle by giving them a proper burial.”

“Makin’ ’em part of the earth where they fought or some such thing,” Lariat adds.

“If I can persuade you children to end your prayer meeting early,” Laython cuts in from atop his perpetually snarling beast, “It’s time to collect the maimed and deal mercy to the mortally wounded.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Evie objects. “How do I know the difference?”