Luneshale Pass oro

the wary side of soto reminds himself that any unknown is an enemy; he is the rabbit, and the world a stage of predators. enemies come from every side, of every fang, beak, and talon -- this could very well be the expert plot of the wildlings north.

but the boy does not carry their scent, and no mark of khusobek lingers on him. that he spoke soto's tongue was no consolation -- he recalled nino's last moments had been insulted by the stilted speech of the wildling band's seeming leader. soto had not stopped to listen.

this boy's words were mellifluous enough. he drags a wary gaze back over him, as if expecting khusobek's ropes to spring out from under his mercury pelt any moment.

finally, he decides. spitting into the sand, soto speaks. venga conmigo.