We go back to the rogue camp, beneath a sky that is yet thick with nightfall. To one side of me there visually crackles in the air, despite today's five-hour ride stretch, the palpable dance of tension going wildfire in dry grass. I can sense the discomfort in every thrum of the bond—Kael's suspicious of alliances despite last night having proven their necessity. Rogues mass at the gate, their faces sponged with exhaustion and with something else as well: the confidence that comes with battle won. They know it is a dawn march with Silverclaw. Now, in the firelit dark, they turn their attention to the proper task: planning to break Blackfang's hold over these lands.
I release the thighs that have been brimming with tension and Kael slides off as well. Jace and Mara prepare, armor in place, faces somber. The din dies when Starryn enters, her silver hair shimmering like starlight in the lamplight.
