Chapter 16

"...and the Selvran Plains will be reclaimed." A voice somewhere ahead of them slowly grew more clear.
"Reclaimed to what end, Archior Zarr?" Kalen recognized Aevin's voice. "We are too few to populate the plains. Even if we overthrow Fellyre--if, by some madness, they do leave their city defenseless--the beasts of the Dinab will overrun the land."
A glow of torchlight show for only a moment in the tunnel before them before Kalen was pushed out of the tunnel into the council chamber. He missed whatever Aevin said next. He could only stare at the beauty of the cave. Some three or four hundred people stood in a semi-circle by the side of a faintly glowing milky blue lake in a cavern so vast that he could not see the far end. The ceiling could be seen only faintly, shimmering and casting rainbows across the stones in the light of dozens of enclosed lamps, set at random in crevices and shelves of the rock. Vast, upside-down icicles of stone rose, straining to meet their counterparts descending from the ceiling. Strands of crystal ran--
"Kalen." He started at Eldan's voice. Oh, yes. She was mad. Every inch of her looked on the verge of explosion, but she took a long, slow breath. "Kalen. What in Ithien's fair, sweet earth are you doing here?"
"We found him in the passage. Friend of yours?" The man holding him asked Eldan.
"Friend is a strong word, but yes--and he's harmless. He hasn't taken the vow yet, but I'll see to that. Leave him with me and return to your post."
"You don't give orders here, Tellisade. You're under me. Go--the tunnel's unguarded. You're not needed here."
Eldan paled slightly, but obeyed without protest, leaving Kalen under the watchful eye of the heavily armed guard. A few more steps brought them in sight of the speakers.
A broad-shouldered man with a closely cropped white beard was seated on a rocky outcropping spread over with several cloaks. Aevin, Hallin, and one other man stood before him. Hallin was speaking.
"As the noble Archior has said, even if Elni withstands the full force of Fellyre, we have no reason to believe they will not send their armies out to hunt us as they have before. They are not our friends, as Fendrel would have you believe--that much is obvious. But nor are they neutral allies as Aevin claims. There is blood on Elnite hands--Tassin blood. And there will be more if we attempt to aid them."
"Elni is a city, with women and children, not just an army," the third man--Fendrel interjected. "You would leave thousands of innocents to Fellyrian butchery and ravishing for a distraction? Just because you have abandoned all humanity does not mean we should follow you in this madness! How many of us have friends and family in Elni? Would you see them tortured--would you see their severed heads places on Fellyrian pikes while--"
"Enough, Fendrel." The old man rose and all fell silent. "People of the Dinab." A murmur of acknowledgement ran through the crowd. "You have heard this case out. It is for you to vote now: will you follow Fendrel and Aevin to attack and delay Fellyre's advance on Elni, or will we follow Hallin to Fellyre and take the city while its army is abroad?" The crowd began to stir as people divided into two groups. The guard behind Kalen released him to go and stand proudly at Hallin's side. Kalen stayed where he was--he was in enough trouble as was--and watched as the verdict was passed for the death of his people. Forty or fifty people stood by Aevin and Fendrel while the rest of the Tassin formed ranks with Hallin.
The council was quickly dismissed by the elderly Archior. The crowd filed out, paying Kalen no heed. He followed silently.

Grevvin met them at the tree. He stood smiling by a shallow hole in the earth, holding a large stick, and bowed low to everyone as they passed, addressing them at random as lords and ladies, or captains and priests. No one spared him a glance.
"Kalen! Kalen, lad!" Kalen was yanked out of step by Grevvin's grip on his shoulder. "You're not dead!" He prodded Kalen's forehead. "Yessir, the boy's survived!" He shook his head, looking at the hole. "A blessed waste of time, a blessed waste of time. Ah, well, that good fortune of yours can only hold out so long and when it runs out," He thumped the ground with the stick. "I'll be there."
"Kalen, we need to be on our way." He had not seen Eldan come up behind him.
"Ah! Eldan Tellisade, lady of Syxel." Grevvin gave an exaggerated bow. "How gracious of you to grace us with your graceful presence! You would not take my new young friend away so hastily, would you, my dear?"
"Indeed, I would. Come, Kalen." Kalen followed her back into the tree-village and down a different route, straight to Aevin's hut.
"Grevvin wasn't hurting anything. He showed me the way to the council."
Eldan stopped in her tracks. "His name is not Grevvin, and, whatever he has told you, he is not your friend. You're hard enough to keep out of trouble without fraternizing with a Calcidonian."
"A man from Calcidon," Aevin explained, coming up behind them. "The mountain realm. No one knows his real name. He has given a dozen or so different titles for himself over the past seven months he's been here. He's either raving mad or playing some absurd game with us. He's not to be trusted--that much is certain--but he may prove a friend in time." Eldan snorted, and Aevin added, "Ithien help you when you need a friend, Eldan. You can't expect to get through life trusting no one--we weren't made for that."
Eldan declined to argue the point, but ducked inside the hut and set to strapping her discarded gear back on. Aevin pulled a light mail shirt over his head and laced a sleeveless leather jacket over it.
"This should fit you." Kalen caught the leather plate-armor doublet that Aevin toseed back to him. The shoulders were a little broad, but the buckles on the side held it firmly in place. Aevin took to the back of the hut and returned with a small store of traveler's food--biscuits, nuts, and dried meat--and a bundle of weapons, strapped together with a sword belt. Eldan was content with her sword and crossbow, so the men divided the rest of the weapons. Kalen received a short axe and three knives, two for throwing and one long blade, while Aevin bound two straight swords in crossed sheaths to his back and took up a long spear.
"So where are we going?" Kalen asked as they stepped out on to the bridge.
"Elni." Aevin pointed south with his spear. "The rest of the Tassin may follow Hallin and the Archior, but no one should have to face that force unwarned. If their king has any sense, Elni will be emptied by the time Fellyre lays their seige."
"I wouldn't wager on King Dyestan's sense." Kalen almost said more, but he thought better of it. Perhaps Dyestan would prove reasonable. Perhaps donkeys would fly.
"Then let us pray his people can differentiate between loyalty and folly." Aevin smiled a little. "If most Elinites are like you, we have reason to hope."
They set off quickly across a few bridges, while Kalen tried to digest the compliment. What had he ever done or said that made Aevin think that?

Chapter 15

The hut was empty when Kalen awoke. He could feel the noon sun beating down on him through the doorless entry way. He rolled over with every intention of going back to sleep. The council! Where were Aevin and Eldan? Surely they wouldn't have gone without waking him--that council would decide the fate of his home! His father, Syriel, his cousins, his friends, the neighbors--they wouldn't deny him a say in this choice! They couldn't.
He made the mistake of looking down as he stepped out on the bridge. His dinner briefly felt inclined to reappear, but the feeling passed after a few unsteady steps forward. Looking around, he noticed that that bridge was one of many, strung like vines throughout the treetops, connecting narrow platforms and low, nest-like dwellings similar to the one he had just left. He could not recall having seen any activity in the trees earlier, but the fear of the council taking place without him seemed confirmed. Where in this bird's kingdom would they meet?
He wandered from bridge to bridge, searching for any sign of life. The huts were all empty and virtually unfurnished. He found what seemed to be an armory full of leather and wooden armor with the only metal found on a few pilfered weapons of Fellyrian make.
One hardened leather helm with an intricately carved mask lying in a heap in one corner caught his eye. It seemed strangely out of place amid the simple, utilitarian designs of the rest of the armor and weaponry.  Briefly forgetting about the council, he leaned closer for a better look. It was beautiful--possibly the best craftsmanship he had even seen. Then it moved.

Kalen screamed a full octave higher than his voice should have been. A long, loud laugh met his alarm as a figure stood up from the pile and removed the mask, revealing a thin, lined face fringed with scraggly dark grey hair. The man grinned, revealing two--possibly three--long, crooked teeth. He shot out his hand and seized Kalen's, shaking it vigorously before Kalen could begin to recover from the shock.
"Grevvin--Name's Grevvin! And what might I call you?" He half-shouted.
"K--Kalen."
Grevvin slapped him on the back with a force that nearly sent him sprawling. "I scared you good there, lad--scared you good!"
"Yes--you did. That was--why were--"
"And don't you worry, Kalen. You won't always sound like a ten year old girl!" He burst out laughing again, shaking his head. "Scared you good, scared you good." He muttered happily, patting Kalen's shoulder.
  Kalen stepped back on to the platform in front of the armory, out of reach of Grevvin's excessive friendliness.  With a little more distance between them, he could see the man more clearly. He was not really so very old--perhaps Kalen's father's age, clean shaven (if he had ever grown facial hair, which seemed unlikely). He was shorter than Kalen and muscles clung in knots to his starved limbs. He smelled of months unbathed. And he followed him out and across the next bridge.
"You're new here, aren't you lad? Didn't get an invite to the council, did you?"
Kalen turned abruptly. "The council--where is it? I need to be there."
"Ah! So you just slept in! Oh, lad, that is a habit you need to break yourself of. Oversleeping--shame, shame." He let out another guffaw, clapping his hands together with a violence.
"That doesn't matter--I have to know where it is."
"Then you'll have to follow me, Kalen, boy. No amount of telling and directing will get you there of your own. This here's the forest and it has many a tree, many a tree indeed."
Kalen restrained himself from remarking on the obvious nature of that statement. They walked along in silence, aside from Grevvin's regular mumbling and laughing to himself. He was sure-footed, even if his sanity was questionable.
"So why weren't you at the council?" Kalen asked at length.
Grevvin pulled up abruptly and turned to him. "Because they think I'm crazy." He put his head very close to Kalen's, lowering his voice. "But I have a secret."
"Okay..."
"I'm not!" Grevvin announced and set off again quickly, leaving Kalen none the more enlightened to his new friend's condition. The winding net of bridges and slender support lines finally gave way to one single bridge, so narrow Kalen would have missed it altogether without his guide. The bridge ended in a massive, branchy fir tree, and, without hesitation, Grevvin began swinging down from branch to branch. Kalen followed carefully, picking his way along the prickly branches.When he finally dropped to the ground, he found Grevvin lying on his back with his eyes closed.
"Grevvin?" He leaned over the man. "Are you--"
"Aye, I'm awake!" Grevvin started up so fast that Kalen was nearly knocked over. "Well, lad, I was thinking you'd break your neck climbing down. Never touched a tree before, I warrant!" He hooked an arm around Kalen's shoulders. "If you fell, I was thinking where I'd bury you. That's a pretty place, isn't it?" He pointed to a small bed of blue flowers at the foot of one tree.
"It is indeed, but I don't need burying. Where to now?"
"Ah, this way. And don't worry, my boy, you'll have your burial day yet." A short walk led them to a little, grassy hill that Grevvin circled around. Kalen found himself questioning Grevvin's interest in burial when the old man pointed him to a hole in the side of the hill, just large enough for a man to pass through. "In you go! We're almost there."
"I'd rather you lead."
Grevvin, for once, did not laugh. "Oh, my lad, I daren't. I'm not supposed to be at these meetings. We have laws here and laws are not to be broken. Spying on the council is death."
Kalen hesitated, trying to gauge his sincerity. "That seems an excessive penalty."
"Well, you can argue that with the council! And if you're not supposed to be here either, my boy, you'd better get back where you came from as quick as you can run." Grevvin grinned, "Or you can assume I'm lying and find out for yourself." He pointed to the hole.
"I am supposed to be there. They're discussing the fate of Elni--my home city. No one would contest my right to a place in this council." Kalen ducked inside the entrance. "Where do I go inside?"
"Just follow the tunnel. I'll be digging."
"Digging?"
"Your grave, lad. And thinking up a worthy epitaph to your noble stupidity."
His rattling laughter followed Kalen into the tunnel. Cold air blasted up from some unseen lake as he turned corner after corner, moving slowly in the impenetrable dark. He had made a mistake. He did not see them coming.
His face hit the floor of the cave. Before the shock could give way to pain, he was hauled to his feet. He bent forward as his captor twisted his arms up behind him. He was forced forward down the tunnel in silence.
He could only think one thing: Eldan is going to be so mad.

The Hinge of History

The slow clock of history ground on, dragging with it a broken nation. Israel. Prince with God. Oh, how they had failed. Time and time again, from the time of the golden calf that fateful day at the foot of Sinai, they had rebelled and broken God's covenant.
Even after repentance, they had returned to their sin as the sow returns to wallow in the mire. Warnings had lain unheeded, prophets persecuted and killed, while the people and their kings forgot their God.
Even the best of them, the great King David, wise Solomon, Gideon, and Moses himself, fell and failed before the demands of God's holy law. Faith in God's promises gave way to dead tradition and ritual. Rather than the broken and contrite heart God sought, He found souls which delighted in abominations. As the prophet Isaiah wrote, truth had fallen in the streets and equity could not enter.
The old covenant, contained in the law, had failed. It could bring no one to God, but rather condemned all who heard it. None could draw near to God, for man's best deeds were as the profane fire of Nadab and Abihu. The veil hung heavy and unmoving between the Holy God and His unholy nation.
But in the midst of this, the promise of a new covenant came. An everlasting covenant that would succeed where the last had failed. Where the law was written on stone, bearing no power over the heart, now God promised to "give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will take out your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put My Spirit within you and cause you to walk in My statutes, and you will keep my judgements and do them." (Ezekiel 36:26-27)
God promised to send the Messenger of this new covenant to purify the people (Malachi 3:1-2), then silence fell. Four centuries rolled past with no further word from God.
Empires rose and fell. Oppressor after oppressor tyrannized the nation of Israel. The people of promise clung wearily to their traditions and their hope of the promised Saviour, who would fulfill the promises from the dawn of history and set His people free. But none was prepared for the destruction of the old covenant.

Then Christ came. How history must have trembled when the eternal one stepped into time! How the angels must have marvelled as the Holy One from whom even they his their faces took a form more lowly than their own! God in human flesh. The great paradox of veiled majesty, the great union of strength and frailty, the Creator became the creature. He came to His own--His chosen nation, the keepers of the promises--but His own did not receive Him.
As He rose to threaten and challenge the old covenant, they rose up to its defense and His destruction. They rose to do exactly what God had planned, but that was not how they saw it. The cross looked to them like a preventative. It seemed expedient to have one Man die rather than risk their nation and their traditions.
Now, with the wider picture painted, let us hone in on these final days--the days that shattered the old covenant and brought in the new.

The scene is set. Dinner finished and the betrayer already on his way to his final treachery, Jesus brings His disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane as He so often had. Another night of prayer. The disciples, taking lightly His warnings of the horror that was so soon to come upon Him, see only the familiar garden and their own weariness. As He leaves them to pray alone, they lie back and drowse, unheeding of the anguish of their Master as He falls to the ground in desperate prayer.
"Take this cup from me." These words, gasped out as the bloody sweat of extreme emotional aguish runs down His face, reveal the cause of his agony. He knows of what He speaks. The cup of horror and desolation--the stored up wrath of God upon all the earth. A cup none but He could fully understand even as none but He could drain it. All the wrath, all the fury--all the sins of all His people, past, present, and future, was stored up and ready to crush Him. Unknown suffering may frighten men, but there is no terror like the full understanding and anticipation of every moment of pain. Yet He did not flee or call down angels to His rescue, but rather submitted Himself fully to the will of the Father.
Then came the betrayal, with the desertion of His followers and the heartless abuse of the guards, even after they witnessed Him miraculously restore the severed ear of one of their number. A sleepless night, alternating between interrogations and brutal beatings, brought Him at last to the darkest day.
The trial was held before a secular power, the same oppressor the people hoped their Messiah would save them from. His judge had no right or reason to condemn Him, save that which He himself allowed. The violent Roman flogging, known to sometimes kill the victims, was only a hint at the anguish to come. Shredded flesh and muscles and hypovolemic shock setting in rendered Him physically incapable of carrying His cross alone. And yet, despite the agony He was already in, He refused the pain-reducing drink offered at the place of execution. He had come to suffer and He would not be spared, for, if He were spared, His people would not be.
Then they nailed Him, hands and feet, to the cross and hoisted it up right with a joint-dislocating jolt. The physical pain of the cross is hard to imagine. We live in a gentle Western world where pain is quickly treated and death is eased by any means possible. But Romans were experts of pain. One need only look to Coliseum to see their lust for blood.
For six long hours, He dangled from spikes in His wrists, pushing up on the spikes slowly tearing wider holes in His feet as the grated against the bone. And the people were laughing. Laughing! They mercilessly mocked the dying Lord, relishing their final victory over He who would have destroyed their covenant.
Then came the peak of His suffering. The anguish of the cry "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" cannot be fathomed. The spiritual agony of condemnation and fury from God raining down mercilessly upon the Holy One made all the other torment pale. This was the cup He had dreaded--not the lash, not the nails, not the mocking, but this crushing and pouring out of His soul.
Yet even then, at the height of His suffering, He did not cry out "Enough!". He had the right--at any moment, He could have, as the scoffers dared Him to, "come down from the cross" and "Save yourself."
Then came the final cry--the victory shout. "IT IS FINISHED!" And all men's schemes turned upside down. In an emphatic demonstration of a covenant ended, the veil in the temple, symbolizing all that divided the people from God, tore clean in two. And the Giver of life surrendered His life.

History hung suspended. The old covenant ended, the new hung in the balance of a single question: What now?
Then came Sunday. And death rolled back, surrendering its undefeated prey. It had swallowed what it could not contain. And Christ rose up from the grave in final victory, as the guarantee of the New Covenant. The old was ended forever. The law could stand no more before the new Law of Christ.

The Law of Christ written on His people's hearts rather than the stone, the Everlasting Covenant that covers all saints from the beginning of history to the end, had replaced the old forever. And in this covenant, we have a new and better hope. A hope which will not and cannot disappoint, for the love of Christ has been poured out both on the cross and in our hearts. A people sealed and bought by grace cannot and will not stray for the Spirit of God is in them, compelling them to repentance and faith.

Rejoice, Covenant people of our God. You are no longer under law but under grace. You stand no longer separated by your sin, but, covered in the blood of Christ, the door to the throne room of God is open wide to you.

For He Himself is our peace, who has made both one and has broken down the middle wall of separation, having abolished in His flesh the enmity, that is, the law of commandments contained in the ordinances, so as to create in Himself one new man from the two, thus making peace, and that He might reconcile them both to God in one body through the cross, thereby putting to death the enmity."

-Ephesians 2:14-16

Chapter 14

"They're safer with me. You can't even see the writing. You don't know which one is which."
"Right. And you're about as wood-wise as a fish. You wouldn't even last long enough for them to find you! They'd take those from your corpse after you tripped in a mud puddle and drowned."
"You haven't even given me a chance to prove myself!" Kalen protested. "I've been in the army since I was eleven. Four years training and two battles have taught me more than you think."
"I don't care. I'm not letting you take off with these." Eldan brandished the three little scrolls in his face.
"Well, I'm not leaving them with you. Their magic clearly works better on you than me."
Eldan snorted at the word. "Magic? Objects are not magical. I don't believe in any real magic. I've seen Fellyrian conjuring tricks and heard tales of spellcasters across the mountains, but I have seen no spirits, or enchantments, or any true magic."
"And what of Ithien? Or Zerak, for that matter?"
"Ithien is not magic. That's blasphemy--he is our god! And don't class him with Zerak. Zerak is a Fellyrian legend, created by their kings to maintain control of their people."
Kalen did not reply, so she went on. "But even if these are magical, and some spell makes them visible to you and invisible to me, you could just as easily be the one enchanted to see something that isn't there."
"Then it looks like as long as we have those, we're stuck with each other."
"I suppose so--until one of us drives the other mad."

Living in the forest was better than Kalen expected, and, contrary to Eldan's prediction, the more time passed, the less they irritated each other. Eldan's satirical remarks grew less frequent and more mild as Kalen's skills improved. The hours separate as one slept or hunted while the other kept guard over the scrolls definitely helped. It was during one such time that Kalen realised that something was wrong.
The final embers of their cookfire were fading, throwing their last sparks into the cold night air. Eldan was curled up in a tight ball under her cloak with her quiver for a pillow. It had been a little over a week, with no sign of pursuit or trouble, and Kalen's watch was growing a little slack. He idly cut away at a fallen branch. He had never been able to whittle, but then, he had never before had the time to learn.
The horse head slowly began to take shape. It was rough, like a child's drawing, but better than any he had made before. Ouch The knife suddenly slipped and cut into his fingernail, nicking the skin underneath. He set the knife again. The blade trembled. No. It vibrated. He held out his hand. There was no tremor. His trained instincts set in, and he stabbed the knife into the ground. Setting his ear to it, he could feel the vibrations in the earth. A distant rumble, not of thunder, ran up the hilt.
"Eldan." The girl did not stir. "Eldan!" He shook her lightly, then more earnestly.
"What? Is it time already?" She mumbled, not opening her eyes.
"No--but we have a problem." That roused her. She sat up quickly, still tangled up in her cloak. "I think we have company. Listen here."
Eldan had her ear to the hilt for only a moment, then she was on her feet. "It's Fellyre. It must be. No one else has a force of that size. They're advancing again." She began strapping her gear back on. "We can't stay here. I need to warn the Tassin."
"So we are going to the Tassin after all? How do you know that's where the Fellyrian army is headed?"
"It's not. They're going to Elni. Elni is the only free city left. They would make an end of us--the Tassin would not last long alone against Fellyre. But we can do what we do best."
"And what's that?"
"Sting." Eldan offered no further explanation, but stamped out the remains of the fire and started off into the night. She set a hard pace, but Kalen had always been swiftfooted. The sun rose, and they took to the thicker parts of the forest, slowing their pace slightly.
Suddenly, Eldan stopped, putting her hand out for silence. She smiled after a moment. "Rystar, you're mad if you think you could hit a horse from that distance. Put that down before you hurt yourself." A tree far to their left rustled as its occupant scrambled down. He was a slight youth, younger than Kalen, with a frizz of golden hair sticking out from under a poorly sewn hat and a short bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He returned Eldan's smile innocently.
"I was waiting for you to get closer. Eldan, it is good to see you! We thought you were dead. Ellesanne is going to take you to task for the scare you gave her. Aevin blames himself for letting you go."
"I have much to tell them, but there's more pressing news now. You should get back to your post. There'll be a rallying tonight. I'll see you then."
"Er, Eldan..." Rystar fidgeted nervously. "I don't know if I can let you both pass. I don't remember all the rules, but I'll need to know his name and where he's from, and I am supposed to accompany him to the Scevva."
"Kalen is an Elnite and one of us now. We don't have time for this. Fellyre is on the move. If there's aught to answer for, I'll do the answering. Now get back up that tree and have your bow ready for Fellyrian scouts." Rystar did not need to be told twice. The mention of Fellyrian Scouts was enough.

The Tassin village--or Scevva as they called it--looked more like a mess of brambles and birds nests high in the trees than anything else. It took Eldan sometime of yelling up into the trees before they were persuaded to throw a rope ladder down. She didn't tie the bottom, but the tree kept it from swinging too badly as they climbed. Through a thick net of branches, they came out on to a rough hewn wooden platform, where they were immediately surrounded by lightly armed men in leather armor.
"Eldan!" One of them took half a step forward and Kalen recognised him as Aevin. A heavy set dark bearded man, evidently their leader, interrupted.
"Eldan Tellisade. You have been gone without leave three weeks. Where have you been?"
"Around. It doesn't matter. Fellyre is on the move. They are marching on Elni. If we don't intervene, we'll be the only resistance left."
"How do you know this? Have you seen their forces?"
"No, but I heard them. A force large enough to make the ground shake could only come from Fellyre." The man crossed his arms and did not move. "Zerak's blood, Hallin, what reason would I have to lie? We failed Syxel. We can't abandon Elni. Fellyre is one step away from total dominion; it's our job to stop that final step."
Aevin spoke up. "Thank you, Eldan. Our scouts have already brought back reports of this force, so we know you're telling the truth. Hallin's just being boorish because he doesn't want to fight for Elni."
Hallin turned on Aevin like a storm. "Elni be damned! They've never so much as lifted a finger to our aid. They live in peace and prosperity, thanks to their wealthy army, while our people starve. Attacking their army? It's madness! My plan would work a thousand times better. If you want to kill a beast, you don't hack at its limbs. Go for the heart--one quick blow and the Fellyrians will be the homeless ones."
Aevin didn't so much as blink at the tirade. "The council will meet shortly and bring this to vote. It's really come down to Hallin and Fendrel. I can guess which side you're going to take. But come--you and your friend must be hungry."
Hallin put up a brief protest, then turned and left, with a warning that he would tell the council of Aevin's insubordination. A short walk along a precariously narrow bridge with a thin rope on either side for railing led them to an odd triangular hut with a thatched roof.
Within minutes, a basic, if a bit scant, meal, consisting of herbs, fruit, and dried meat, was spread out before them on a blanket on the floor of the hut. Eldan and Aevin sat cross legged and took their food with their fingers, so Kalen followed in suit. Aevin plied them with questions about the past three weeks. Eldan's answers somewhat surprised Kalen, as he frequently came up in rather heroic context. If she saw him that way, she had certainly never shown it.
After dinner, Aevin took the blanket, shook it once, then offered it to Kalen. "You should take some rest. Sounds like you've earned it." It felt vaguely like being offered a table for a bed, but Kalen was too tired to mind.
"My thanks, Aevin. Can I sleep here?" Permission granted, he immediately acted upon it.