The combining of the two tribes, each thriving in the shadow of the same pale tree, had not been Zeru's first option when it came to battle -- but his hand had been forced. He had been told, time and time again, that it was absolutely necessary that he speak with the warlord of the Endikai. Zeru had been putting it off for some time before the battle, and now...

He didn't like to think about it. First he had lost Xanti to the palefaces, and now his second son, Inaki, was gone at their hands as well. His young daughter, Esti, alone, heartsick with the loss of her husband and pregnant with his child. Zeru could barely stand to look at her -- such unbearable grief filled her that her poor, small body could not contain it, and he was forced to bear some of it for her. It was a task that she could not, and would not, ask of him. He did it willingly, as her father. There must have been something he had done, some way in which he had displeased Eguzki, that had made Him take both Zeru's favorite sons. Perhaps it was a misdeed that could be made right by his kind treatment of Esti.

So he rummaged through the makeshift camp his family had set up for some bread to put at Esti's bedside. When she awoke, she would no doubt be sick, and Amaya had done this every day for weeks. Zeru slipped through the unfastened flap of Esti's tent to set the bread gingerly on a plate beside her bed. The girl looked feverish, unhappy, a furrow marking the grief in her brow. She slept clutching Inaki's wedding tunic so tight that her knuckles were white, and Zeru could see the bones that formed them -- she hadn't been eating much. He was glad to see her sleeping, as well, however fitfully.

He left her. He had procrastinated enough.

Zeru set out across the camp, feet still sinking into the bloodied ground. Over by the trees, he could see the mark in the ground where a horse had fallen dead, though the corpse had been dragged away. In the bushes beyond, the plumes of arrows stuck up like misaligned flowers between the greenery. And far off to the left and behind, where Zeru did not dare to look, was the field where Inaki had fallen, beside him in battle, father and son. Through the earth-shattering grief that was not entirely his own, Zeru felt a swell of pride at his "good-for-nothing" son's bravery that day. He may have fallen, but he fell a warrior, protecting the cave full of women and children at his back.

Zeru paused just outside the small encampment where Endika and his family dwelt. "Hail, warlord," he called, greeting the younger man formally, in Baska. Even though he hadn't seen Endika since the battle, Zeru knew that somewhere within the camp, he would hear...

And he would have to answer.

Endika was crouched beside the fire, helping Nekane make bread. It was woman's work, but after the carnage of the massacre he was aching to do something; anything, that might be considered useful. Many had survived the skirmish, but too many had not. The young man found that if he did not keep himself busy, he started wondering more than was good for him. Had he helped at all? Was there anything more he could have done? Had he made things worse? Worst of all, did his own people hate him for what had happened? He wouldn't blame them if they did, but this feeling of constant inadequacy was beginning to wear. The Endikai needed Ekain. They always would. He couldn't be a boy one day and the Warlord the next, it was just too much all at once-

His frown darkened and he poked roughly at the fire, trying to forget the screams and wails of the battle. Men and women dying where they stood, children even. The interlopers had no shame. They'd taken many valiant warriors, but also his mother. While Endika felt lost in the mountains in his wish that everything would be right, he knew at least one thing for sure. The pale men had kindled his anger, and he would be excruciatingly slow to forget it.

And then a man's voice cut through the void, hailing him as Warlord. Endika froze and stiffened. That greeting could only come from One, and he was probably the last person Endika was prepared to deal with. Warlord Zeru. An older, wiser man; experienced in battle and women and ....well, everything. What could he want? Surely not to speak with a boy so much younger than him on equal grounds. Would he try to pick a fight between the two tribes?

Everything was so heavy! Every word must be weighted; even a wrong glance would send not only him, but everyone relying on him into disaster. Endika gathered his courage and straightened, ducking out of his tent to greet the approaching enemy. "Hail, Warlord."

Ought he bow? Endika stood for a moment in awkward silence, wondering what Ekain would have done. But then he remembered the blood and havoc he'd been witness to, and the mourning of the women, and the fell wind sweeping over fields that had once been fair. The stirring anger burst into flame and he looked Zeru right in the eyes, gesturing out over the waste with an arm flung wide. "We must do something about this."

The proper thing was to invite another chief in for refreshment; to ease himself within the home as if he were a member of the family. Endika remembered too late and spat out the words; obviously not wanting to waste time on formalities when all the world was in ruin. "Come and take your leisure, Warlord. There is much talking to be done."