There was … a pause? An absence? Something, during which Pilos tried not to lose parts of himself, and then the Singer was gone and Citla was guiding him back into his body and there was new knowledge in his head and no memory of it being put there.

When he opened his eyes this time, the Listener was still kneeling but she was slumped against his chest, their hands still gripping tight. Her breath was a high, thin wheeze and Pilos looked up – Feathers Atu, Detta and Ekon were all with him. He nodded very carefully so that he didn’t fall out of his body again, and Atu moved behind Citla, ready to catch her if Pilos faltered. The High Feather was shaking as he supported her weight and laid her gently on the mats. There was a wet stain on his tunic – drool or tears or sweat – from where her face had pressed.

As soon as she was prone, Atu helped Pilos to stand and they left her alone. Touch and voices could do her more damage in the aftermath of communion with the Singer than solitude. The High Feather’s knees wobbled as he staggered out of his office and into another room, bigger, more comfortable. The Feathers followed and they all waited until he was sitting cross-legged with a stool under one elbow as support.

‘The Singer will consult the stars and the prophecies and inform us when we need to move,’ he croaked. His head was pounding with tiredness and strain and his lower lip was swollen from where he’d bitten it. Strange tingles and twitches plagued the muscles in his forearms and lower legs, but he ignored them. His state was far better than Citla’s. ‘It will be soon. We’re going to throw every experienced Talon at them until they break, so I want options for the security of the Empire with our best in the north. I want to know who we can call back and how long it will take to march them direct to Xentiban.’

His Feathers looked at him, intent and focused.

‘Get to it.’

They’d planned and argued and counter-planned until Pilos couldn’t see straight and he’d dismissed them – or rather dismissed himself to bed, where he’d slept three hours past dawn and woken feeling vaguely alive again.

And despite the frantic hurry – or because of it and what it meant – he’d ordered the Feathers and the Third Talon to assemble and he’d finally elevated eagle Calan to Feather, a leader in her own right with three hundred eagles under her command, all full-blood Pechaqueh of course, all warriors of exquisite skill and renown. They cheered as Atu and Detta braided the war feathers into the command fan at the back of her head. When it was done, the trio faced Pilos.