He didn't come back.

Renna had followed Izotz's final instructions and followed the women up to the caves. She had not been much help to the Zerui; even if the Thiasans were attacking it was impossible for her to lift a bow to take down a kinsman. So she'd huddled against the cave wall and tried to care for the children as best she could; but the little ones would have nothing to do with her if it could be avoided. Some had thrown dirt; others had simply stared with frightened eyes and then run to cling to the nearest Baskari woman. Renna had given up quickly and so waited the long hours out alone, her knees held to her chest and her head buried to drown out the horrible noises of war.

Only when men had braved the climb to the caves did she perk up. The Baskar had killed a great general, or something; and so the interlopers had retreated-but the victory had been hollow, judging by the grim expressions on the warrior's faces. Nevertheless she had leapt to her feet and hurried to the front, scanning each passing face with an eager hunger. She'd waited. Even after the last warrior had walked by with only a disgusted glance at her; she'd waited. There wasn't another option. Even if she had convinced herself that it was no use, she couldn't move. Fear had sent a numbness down her limbs to her feet, and kept her rooted at the mouth of the cave, staring at the path as if the power of her gaze would be enough to summon her lover.

It was the sinking sun that had spurred her to finally move. Renna remembered the scrambling flight down the path, slipping and catching herself only to fall again a moment later in her haste. The battlefield itself had been a nightmare; worse than a nightmare, Hell itself-but she'd walked it, horror being stayed by another; deeper fear. These bodies meant nothing to her. They were terrible and bloated and marred by wounds that should never have been; but as long as they didn't belong to one particular soul they were a reason to rejoice. Dead, dead, everything was dead; but somewhere on this plain another heart must be beating. It must. Hers was so strong she could hear it drumming outside of her body.

She'd found him in a ditch; a narrow pool of water swallowing him and bathing him in red. She'd leapt to him, only to find his warmth leaving with the fading light and his form already stiffening. His eyes were open.

Her scream had been enough to wake the dead. She'd meant it to. Alas, the grief of one human girl had not been enough to resurrect the fields of the dead, but it had been enough to call people down. They had found her with him in her arms, sobbing and screaming into him as if the broken body had been a means to call down the very heavens.

The rest was a blur; a sinking feeling of numbness and utter loss. She'd held him for a day or two before Izotz had been torn from her, leaving his blood on her tunic. There was the agonizing ache she had watched it consumed in flames; the only thing she had left of her husband misting away in smoke and ash.

And then there was nothing. They still had a tent, and horses, and his clothing-but the sun refused to warm; the wind refused to cool, and no scent came on the cleanness of the breeze. Renna didn't even know if his things belonged to her or to his mother. She didn't care. Words had no meaning, voices no sound, the stars no comfort. It had been five days now; five days since he died and five days since he burned. She had not spoken other than to cry out his name while she slept; nor had she eaten more than a crust of bread forced on her by Amalur.

Now there was still nothing, except perhaps a creeping knowledge that the Baskar were blaming her. They must be. She, the only white person near, had only been there for two months-and two chieftains died in succession, and then the interlopers had come on them all at once and destroyed them. Such things cried out betrayal. Little known to Renna the dead expression in her eyes was enough to clear her of guilt to all but the most unfriendly. She had not and could net clear herself of guilt; of her relation to the creatures that had torn her fragile world apart and left the shreds dancing up to the stars. There was nothing.

On the dawn of the fifth day the weaver rose and stepped out of what had once been their tent, then made her way down to Central Camp. Zeru had told her to go there. He would probably kill her now for what had happened, but that was well. Death wouldn't be so terrible against this loss and a world turned upside down. Death would be absolving.

Her steps were measured, slow, and very deliberate-but she found Zeru's longhouse before the morning had passed away. Renna entered without announcing herself and simply stood, looking at the Warlord and only blinking a little in the newness of the shadows. She said nothing to him; there were no words to be said. Renna only knelt, and waited for the world to end.

Zeru woke in the cold sweat of a night-terror, wrapped in the arms of his arreba-emazte and trembling in a way that was more child than Warlord. Dreams haunted him, hearkening him back to the battle, not so long ago, where it seemed the warriors still lay dying at his feet... where the blood still squeezed up from the very earth herself to stain his flesh. He had witnessed the terror of the interlopers for himself, this time; with his very eyes, watched them destroy the only thing he loved and wanted and called his home. His grief was unthinkable, and he mirrored the mourning women in the ghosted black of his eyes, reflecting their pain. But otherwise, he was stolid. Zeru was a Warlord -- he was supposed to feel nothing.

But that was not what his people wanted.

He kissed Amaya's collarbone gently, his shaking finally subsiding into the odd twitch, and clambered out of bed -- she understood him. His movements felt oddly machinated as he pulled on a pair of brown trousers and a beaded white shirt, fastened his knife-belt about his waist, and stood staring at a bowl of clean water as though he didn't know quite what it was for.

A sudden shock of light hit him, unexpected, and Zeru whirled to face the opening of the longhouse. The sunlight was blinding -- a mockery of the grief each Baskari face held in the pale morning -- and drowned out the silhouette of the figure entering until it was no more than a thin, dark thread against the brightness. It was a moment more until his eyes adjusted to the light, and Zeru's gaze lit upon the unwavering green eyes of a pale-faced woman.

Amaya's gasp was a hiss behind him, but Zeru stopped her with a hand. Renna paused before him, moving stiffly, as though she was unused to the motions, then collapsed to her knees on the ground before him. He would have rushed to help her up, then remembered his place, and left her for a moment. "Amaya," he said, in quiet, quick Baska as he gathered some hard bread and smoked cheese onto a clay platter, "take this to Esti, please. She'll be waking up soon. She would love to have you for breakfast." His wife understood him, again -- she smiled as she slipped out the doors.

With her gone, Zeru turned his full attention back to the kneeling girl, who was obviously so distraught she had no concept of what she was doing. "Renna," he murmured, almost urgently. "Renna, you do not have to kneel to me. Get up."

The command was not unkind, and Zeru reached down to take her by the arms, drawing the stubborn weight slowly upwards. She was so weak, or so totally unaware, that he kept his hands on her arms, just to be sure she wouldn't fall. She lolled forward like a doll in his hands -- and Eguzki's eye, if she died right here on the floor of his longhouse, he would probably keel over with her.

He remembered, as he held onto her pale, warm body, the words he'd said to her in the meadow: "You will have a place in Central Camp, if Izotz dies or... or he doesn't want you, you will have a place to go." And then it was that he realized what had happened -- or, that he'd known. He'd been there with Izotz, for a moment or more, found him lying in that stinking puddle, moved his face from the water so he could breathe. But he couldn't stop, couldn't pause for long, and while the other warrior, the jaun of the Izotzi, son of Hibai, begged for death... Zeru had gone on to kill countless interlopers in penance for his loss.

"Renna... txikili," he said, using his long-forgotten nickname for her in an attempt to make her smile, "Have you come to take your place in my camp, Renna?"

His tone suddenly went somber as he looked at her deadened face -- she must be grieving so! "I am not happy. I am happy, to have a place for you. But...

...Tell me, Renna. Tell me what you want me to feel for you and I will feel it. Be it happiness or sadness -- though there is too much grief, lately. I wish I could ease it. I wish I could have..."

"Feel what you like. I care not."

But the whisper was hoarse, and as she looked at him she trembled. Renna shook in his arms like a tree in the wind, his hands the only thing keeping her steady and on her feet. It was plain that the callous response was only meant to turn her pain from her as best she could, for a moment later she was weeping. The tears were silent and endless, a mute testimony to misery. He was welcoming her. That was almost harder to take than a punishment; knowing that he had lost two sons to her kind already and still welcoming her. Comforting, her, even; or trying to. Txikili....at any other time it would have made her smile. Now it only pierced deeper than she had cared for it to go.

There was a long silence, and then another whisper, soft and sad. "....I can't feel my hands." She couldn't think of what else to say. Renna wobbled where she stood and leaned forward to hide her face in his shoulder. She sobbed helplessly against him, trapped in her own grief for a minute or two more before she could manage another sentence. "I'm not ready to be here. Four months.....it was only four months..."

The weaver broke off again, then remembered that she was with the Zerui and needed to be brave. She sucked in a deep breath and whispered into nothing, resting limp against him. "I'm not ready. But if you're kind enough to welcome me, then I'll do what I can to honor your house." It was all that she could manage. Who was she to tell the Warlord what to feel for her? He had his own sadnesses to worry about. No matter how miserable she might be, there was no creature on Earth she would wish her agony on. Even if there were, Zeru would certainly be near the very end of the list. She'd lost a husband. He had lost his children and who knew how many friends and sisters and warriors. His kingdom was floundering because of her kin; there was no way she was going to ask him to bear her grief for her.

He almost dropped Renna right out of his hands when her voice came back to him, beaten sore and bloody to the point of hopeless misery. There was nothing to her but grief, it was clear. She had told him he should feel what she liked, that she didn't care -- but Zeru's heart told him that their mourning was paired, side by side, neither greater than the other in their grief, and he was humbled by it. "Then my heart will break for you," he whispered, staring down at her in unspeakable pain even though the eyes that met his were blank and unreceptive. He barely recognized her. She did not seem to be the bright and sparkling Xixili that had so captivated him with her bird-like habits and constant excitement.

"...I can't feel my hands."

With a little sound like the cry of a wounded animal, Zeru let go of Renna's arms as though burnt. He hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't meant to... she was already in such pain. Her eyes were red-rimmed with crying, the tears still coming whether she realized it or not, and she was falling, falling --

He reached out as if to catch her, but she broke against his shoulder, weeping piteously into the fabric of his tunic. Her forlorn whimpering brought unbidden tears to the Warlord's eyes; he blinked them back. His arms still hovered precariously above her shoulders as though they were birds unsure of where to land, but instead of repeating the meadow scene, this time Zeru wrapped his arms around her delicate, trembling shoulders and leaned his head against her soft hair, giving her a solid shield, if only for a moment. "No, Renna. My welcome is unconditional -- it is a gift. Remember what I said to you?" He paused.

"I said that you would have a place at my side, because you mourned. But now, I wish you wouldn't. I truly wish you wouldn't." Zeru moved his head by a fraction of an inch, taking his cheek from the soft pillow of her hair. "You've every right to mourn Izotz. Take as long as you need. Don't worry about doing me or my house "honor", you've already done it."

Taking a small step back, Zeru lifted Renna's face from his shoulder and brushed a tear from her cheek with one calloused thumb in a gesture of compassion.

"You were there," he rumbled, his low voice filling the air like thunder clouds. "Among all the bodies and disarray. And yet out of all the men whom you could mourn... you choose one of our own. And you befriended him, lived with him, loved him like a true Zerui woman." Zeru shook his head, attempting a smile just for her.

"That is the greatest honor you could give us."

She let him touch her as he wished; a greater symbol of trust even than Zeru's lowering himself before her. The Warlord had no way of knowing it, but his head pillowed on Renna's hair was the greatest gift she could think to offer in exchange for what he'd given. His words were so kind. She'd been ready to look into the eyes of an enemy, but instead had found love and understanding-so beautiful it made her heart break yet again. The Thiasan woman simply nodded at him as his thumb erased the trail of a tear on her cheek, then the sobs came all over again. "I'm sorry...." Her voice broke. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry...."

Renna wept in his arms for the greater part of an hour, saying nothing more through the flood of her pain. She hadn't missed Zeru's tears, either; but unfortunately now she could not help him. She was lost in a sea she didn't know how to navigate, and suffering a pain greater even than what she had known before. Yet the weaver trusted him to be patient with her, and nestled against him to indicate as much. His gift was the time she needed and a place to go; somewhere where she would not be alone in her misery. Barbarian or not, Zeru was a man of his word; and he would not retract his gift.

For awhile the tears brought added pain, but when they finally began to slow it was plain that there had been some healing involved. Renna's tears were not completely over-far from it-but for today she had cried herself into exhaustion and some odd form of peace. She curled up quietly against him, waiting for her body to cease its shaking before she tried to say anything at all. A place at his side? She'd thought he'd said a place in his camp.....but if she had misunderstood, she would not complain. He was not Izotz and never would be, but he was being so good to her, the enemy, that she would find no shame in it. At the very least she would not let herself feel enough to care.

By the time Renna caught her thoughts wandering, her breathing had slowed to almost the state of sleep. She took this as a sign that it would be all right to talk, even if her voice would be pathetically soft from sorrow, and indicated her wish by taking Zeru's hand in her own. "Thank you."

She sounded so raw it made her wince to hear it, but there was nothing to be done. Renna tried a smile for him but found it impossible; her lips only trembled and told her eyes to water again. She sniffed and turned her head away, waiting another moment to regain her composure. If only there was a way to thank him more completely! It would have to wait for later. For now, it was her turn to offer comfort. For a moment Renna had a menacing feeling of dread, but one look at Zeru's face and she forgot any apprehensions in favor of healing them both. The girl tugged at his hand, very gently, and guided him to kneel on the floor beside her. He might become angry. He might not. It didn't matter.

"Here. I haven't been able to do this since...." She couldn't say it. Renna swallowed, looked at him one final time, and then bowed her head. "Let us do this together. It will help." The woman closed her eyes and gathered her hands in front of her, then waited....then seemed to screw up all the courage she possessed and began to speak, still in very quiet Baskar.

"Lord..." Anger flared, but drowned itself under sorrow and so allowed the woman to continue. "We thank You this day....for our lives, and the lives of those who have been spared. I ask you to forgive me for my anger. For while the deeds of Men are terrible, who can say how much worse it could have been? Who can know what your mercy has prevented? I try to understand that all is safe in your hands, and that in the end all will be well. I thank you for your mercy to me; for bringing me here and teaching me about these; Your other children. I thank you for allowing me to know and love Izotz. That was a very great blessing."

Her voice broke, and the next sentence was garbled through the softness of tears. "I only ask to be comforted for losing him. No. Lord; I realize that there is much to be grateful for, and so much that we have been given....the beauty of the sunrise and the softness of the rain, but today I have much to ask. I will not say that you owe me, for You do not and I know I am forever indebted to you; but I beg you as a daughter to give what I ask. Please, bless this people who have suffered today. They know such pain for doing no wrong but living here. Perhaps it is in your plan that times should be hard for them, because only the mighty are given a life of hardness...but even so, I ask that they all be comforted. Let them know that they are loved and worthy in Your eyes and mine; and grant them what strength they need to face this storm. Let them not be afraid. Let the souls of the fallen have rest; and let those left behind know....that because they have perished unjustly, the ones they loved will be rewarded for their courage."

Her hands tightened on each other, and Renna lowered her head even further. "For my people I also ask a blessing of comfort-for there are those who have lost a son or husband even as we have. But more than this I ask that their hearts will be softened." She was trembling again, weary with the unshed tears and the horror of what had been done. "Please, Father; hearts of stone are what commanded the soldiers who have hurt us so. They are so very hard-but with you, all things are possible. Let them understand what they have done. If you will it, let them begin to see who these people are. Help me to convince them to leave my Baskari brothers and sisters in peace. Grant me the strength to do what I must."

Renna's voice quieted even further. "I know and trust in you, and thank you even as my Creator. These things I ask in Jesus Christ's name. Amen."

There was a moment of silence, but then she straightened and swung around to look at the Warlord. "It is not only Izotz I have loved."

She waited quietly for him to respond, expecting anger once again but making no move to brace herself for it. There was denying that the atmosphere in the longhouse was already becoming gentler; but whether that was the work of a foreign God or a woman humbling herself to the dust remained to be seen.

She was not the first woman to have wept in his arms since the battle. There had been several, in fact; his wife, his daughter, Haizea, Erlea, a hundred faces that all melted together into one vast and inconsolable spirit. All women who had lost husbands and sons, even daughters and sisters, to the interlopers. Some of the others had not been as humbled by their grief -- they had struck him with their small fists, the blows glancing off as drops of rain, and Zeru had stood patiently and let them punish him for their loss. It was his burden as Warlord, it was his grief also... and he had gone out among the grieving and spilled a little more of his blood over the pyres, to speed the warriors' ascent to Paradise.

So Zeru allowed Renna to sob into his shoulder, standing stoically for the better part of the hour. If a shoulder to cry into was all she needed, he would give it to her. Zeru had long tried to convince himself that he was still strong, still a Warlord in every way -- but somewhere deep inside the pit his heart had fallen into, he knew that whatever she asked of him, he would gladly give. What sort of devotion it was, he did not know, just that he was a foolish old man that had been bewitched by the pale, tiny figure that shared her grief with him now.

She began to shake, and he wished he could do something to ease her pain. What was it that Amaya had done, to comfort Esti where he could not? He recalled the image of his daughter, her tiny round face crumpled with grief and red with tears, how she sobbed, so hard that she almost choked on her own sorrow; the way Amaya had held her tight, brought her down to the floor so that she would not harm herself or the baby growing in her womb, how she had sung to Esti until her tears had exhausted her and she had fallen into blissful unconsciousness on the floor of the longhouse. But he was too masculine for that kind of comfort, and so settled for tightening his grip slightly on the trembling woman, giving her a little more to lean on so that she wouldn't slip to the floor. It was a while longer before she took his hand and spoke, though the barbarian hardly heard her soft, tired voice through his fascination with the bone-white stretch of her fingers where they gripped the russet earth of his skin.

Renna began to sink to the floor, and for a moment Zeru felt worry cross his heart before realizing that she wanted him to kneel beside her. He dropped to his knees without much grace and watched her cautiously as she began to pray to her foreign God. Zeru, too, felt anger flare in his heart, but it dissipated as he simply replaced her Lord's name with that of Eguzki and allowed himself to close his eyes and simply be, simply exist next to the woman whose unshakable faith might offer some comfort for them both.

And when she turned to him next, though she did not realize it, her eyes were hard and bright with unshed tears, and her face the picture of wild ferocity, the instinct to survive so apparent on her that it shocked him momentarily. "It is not only Izotz I have loved."

Zeru looked at her for a moment in awestruck silence. "...I do not understand." Strange, fearsome, and pitiable creature! She appeared so frail, but held such strength in her. How such a small thing could exist carrying so much weight inside was a mystery to him; perhaps some of the burden was borne by her Christian God, perhaps by some peace she had found in Izotz's passing.

"I do not deny you the right to mourn your people, if that is what you desire. I will not even deny you the right to pray to your God. Do what you will. Renna. I ... I do not think I will ever understand you." He shook his head at her in sadness or confusion. "It used to be that nothing I did could make you happy, only sad. And now there is no chance of my making you forget your grief, and yet... you are thanking me, and -- and apologizing for your sadness? Renna, don't apologize to me. I have lost, too. I understand that grief -- but I do not understand you. I do not know what you mean... that you have not loved Izotz only."

She'd confused him. He was not angry, but obviously he did not understand what she was saying and doing. Renna sat on her knees a moment longer and stared at her hands, trying to sort out the strange lightheadedness that was making speech difficult. There was so much...so many thoughts and emotions and shattered hopes whirling around in her tiny frame, it was impossible to focus on any one thing. But something Zeru had said at least had given her a starting point; and it was something he needed to understand. The girl looked up at him and softened, then closed her eyes and put her head to one side so it rested on the broad expanse of his shoulder. "No, you do not understand."

She was so tired. But still she made the words come, though they arrived slowly and reluctantly past trembling lips. "I do not apologize for my sadness; I apologize for my people. I apologize for my skin. I apologize that something I am a part of came to destroy you." A silent tear moved down towards her chin, and she opened her eyes to stare into nothing. "I am ashamed before the Zerui. War is one thing; we are a different people and if we do not get along-well, it is sad, but not...." Her whisper shook. "It doesn't have to be evil. Ambushing and killing the women, and the children....that is why I knelt to you. I cannot look the Baskari in the eyes, because what has been said to me has been true all along. My people are sem'zakur." Renna gave a tiny sigh and huddled, her eyes still deadened. "There are many who think that I called the soldiers here. Jaunko, I didn't,, but what if I did? What if word got out that an interloper woman was here with the tribe, and they set all Hell loose for their revenge? What if someone I knew well was at the battle? Who did they kill?"

The young woman trailed off, unable to continue, but she opened her eyes and stared at her hand, still wrapped around Zeru's. "I look down at my own hands now and I hate them. I hate them!" She tore away and buried her face in their palms, shaking for another minute in anger and shame and a sick horror. When she spoke again her voice was muffled. "I'm thanking you for my life. What happened....I expected to die for it, and truly, if you wanted to strike me down I wouldn't mind. I don't care if I get punished for the cowardice of those who bore me. I don't. How can you even look at me? Yet you do, and hold me in your arms, and comfort me-that is why I say thank you. It's....."

Renna didn't finish, running out of words to say, but she turned and put her arms around his neck. "Izotz was all I had. His loss is impossible; but not having him coupled with my shame and the loss of what I've thought about the pale people is unbearable. I do not wish to live any longer." Her mouth twisted into a half a smile, but it was gone before it settled. "Except. Except that I may do something for this people; the Zerui. Izotz was my best friend and confidante and a true lover, but my heart did not only go to him. Through him I learned to love every dark little child, and wearing trousers, and riding over the plains like the wind in the grass. Whatever the Zerui may think of me they are dear to me, and always will be. There are things I do not like and disagree with, but there is also a freedom and a courage and a goodness here that are impossible to ignore. It's natural for a man to hate an enemy. I forgive them of that. But watching they way you all take care of each other! Every widow and child has somewhere to go here; everything is shared between you for those in need. My people don't do things that way. Not enough. Every man wants to better himself and if that means making things worse for someone else, fine." She sighed again, blushing pink, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "And of course, the Zerui have a very special Warlord. One who stops to comfort every woman, no matter how small, and listens to every word no matter who it comes from. I love this people. I love their leader. And I love the land that belongs to you."

The green eyes stared at him, veiled with sorrow but gathering brightness even as she spoke. "I'm a lonely sort. I've always been lonely, but now I expect I shall be lonelier than ever. But. I give my life to this tribe, to be used however it may to make things better for them. I pledge this gift under the eyes of Eguzki, and give it into the care of the Warlord. I am a slave no longer, but a willing servant. Let it be so."

She paused a moment as if thinking, then tightened her arms around his neck and lowered her head. "And you, you poor man....I have unburdened my grief on you; my shoulders are small but I have some strength left. I'll carry what I may for you."

As tired as she, Zeru merely sat in silence and listened to Renna go on and explain herself -- thankfully, she was quite the verbal sort, it seemed, and was more than willing to lessen his confusion. The more she spoke, the more Zeru understood; and the more he understood of her words, the less he understood of her. Who was this pale, beautiful little girl before him? She was the color of the snow-flowers that bloomed on the hill in springtime, and just as hardy. A flower, for sure, but one that bloomed under the freezing cover of snow and not in sunlight. And so small, but as he'd known before, so vast in presence that you couldn't ignore her. Not that anyone in the tribe could, he imagined; she'd made quite a stir in the tribe just by being.

She couldn't be sane. Couldn't be. She'd come here hating the tribe, hating everything, of that he was sure. She'd been trembling and afraid when he had first met her, terrified of a hard look or an unfriendly word from the Warlord. Now, she was not afraid to come to him to cling to him or cry... now she loved them, loved them all, every little brown child and grizzled warrior. How did that happen? How did one go from being taken -- physically torn from the only world they had ever known -- to loving the taker?

Then again... here she was. Leaning on him, shaking, near tears, apologizing for the very color of her skin! And it was then that Zeru decided that she was a gift. As she gave her life up to the tribe and Eguzki, it was as though the God had spoken to him, for the first time in many years -- she was a gift. She was a girl. She was... she was absolutely, and inexplicably, Renna.

Zeru wrapped his arms around her again in a brief embrace (a ritual he was getting used to.... slowly), and then gently untangled her from his shoulders so that he could get to his belt. "You have carried my grief for me already," he said, digging into a small leather pouch and coming up with a fire-colored scrap of weaving, no longer than his whole hand. "You have carried it for too long. And so have I. But if we carry it together, if we carry it as a tribe, it will not crush us. It cannot."

But the interlopers can, taunted the judge in his head. Can and will. It is only a matter of time. You have none left to lead after you are gone.

"I told you once that you were blind, but I think now you see more clearly than all of us. Because you are a part of what is, and what was, and what is still to be. Do not apologize for your people, Renna -- they aren't yours, anymore." The Warlord attempted a small smile. "The Zerui are your people, now. And don't thank me -- you made yourself a part of the tribe. It was no doing of mine.

You could have resisted! You could have fought. When the white men came you could have run to them instead of ushering the women and children to the caves. You did not call them, Renna, this I believe with my whole heart. But you could have, if you had but stretched out your hand across the river. And you didn't. You put the tribe's safety before your own in the fight. You pledged yourself to Eguzki and this tribe, here before the Warlord. As for who you knew in the fight and who among them died, I tell you this -- I do not know. All I knew in the fight was that if I did not kill the man who held his blade to my throat, he would kill me first, and all would be lost. This is how war is. None of us wished it to be this way -- and you're right, it is the white men who do not care who is hurt by it. They kill our women, our children, our old and our sick; weak or strong, innocent or barbarian, it matters not to them. They see us as beasts, no better than animals, maybe worse. If they looked into the eyes of every Baskari woman and saw their mother or wife or sister, into the eyes of the children and saw their tiny, pale children... if they could look into the eyes of an old man and see their Grandfather..."

He smiled. "Then maybe, they would see us as a people, and not an obstacle."

She only nodded, not knowing what else to say to that. To be Zerui-it was honor, but at the same time...it wasn't exactly who she was. Still, if to be Thiasan was to be identified with the murderers of the helpless....Renna sagged against him, feeling a stab of pain twist her heart with the memory of the father and mother on the side of the pale ones. It hurt. Even if John Mochrie would never harm a little one, he was forever linked with those that would. What could she do about that? What could she possibly do about that? There was no way for one woman to erase the stain upon the honor of the interlopers, and there was no way for her to protect one pale man against a people who had no reason to love him. Unless...

Renna straightened, and turned her face to look at him. "I told you once that I saw farther than people gave me credit for. Remember? Now I have some more to tell you."

She took a deep breath, and moved on in a whisper. "I was out riding, a few weeks ago, when I ran into soldiers. White soldiers, on the border..." She hadn't even told Izotz of this. "A knight...A em....man in metal stopped me and wanted to know who I was, and why I was dressed like you. I told him; and that I was....well...what I am, but I told him that the Baskar had misunderstood and would not touch another white woman again. He believed me, for his face went soft and he said he had a little sister he was afraid for. But, Jaunko...he made a promise; a blood oath to me, that for as long as he patrolled he would not report any Baskar in the area, and also that if me and mine were ever in trouble, we could go to him and those who knew him for aid. He said husband, children, family....My husband is dead now."

Her shoulders shook at little more, but she continued on. "A blood oath, just as you do. And my father would help. If I came to him and asked he would give the Baskar grain from his fields, and even the secret of the hard-metal. He is a good man and would pity us." Renna touched Zeru's hand once more, timidly, and did not look up. "You also will need another heir." The magnitude of what she was about to do was not lost; indeed it was making something knot in her stomach. "I have no husband. If you will have me, I will give you a heir and the protection of a blood oath to Eguzki."

It would make everyone hate her doubly, but what must be offered must be offered. Renna tried not to think of Amaya, the queen who had lost two children and had to share a husband with other wives and now seemed to be past the bearing of children. At least she'd been Iztoz's only wife. That was something to be grateful for.

"I have no husband. If you will have me, I will give you an heir and the protection of a blood oath to Eguzki."

He was helpless except to stare at her, his face going slack in disbelief. Anything that Renna had said before that moment completely dissolved into nothingness, even the image of her sobbing broken-heartedly in his arms faded into the background of this strange new realization; her offering. And it was just that. She was offering herself.

An offering.

For what? Penance for the deeds of her kin? He would not blame her for that. The loss of his sons? It was not her loss to suffer, and if she offered herself to him purely out of grief, well, it would be well beyond wrong to abuse her in such a delicate state.

And as for an heir -- he had no other sons, only Esti; only the grieving, fragile, pregnant widow who was barely strong enough to hold up her own hand at the moment. Her sorrow had taken something away from her. But her child... if it was a boy, then there was hope -- at least for a while. Esti would have to marry and produce a girl, and her husband would have to stand as a placeholder. Eguzki would not have it. And, of course, Eguzki did not want Inaki, that much was clear now. So what would become of them, if the product of a blasphemed couple became the head of the Zerui tribe?

But Renna... beautiful, yes. Amazing, mystifying in so many ways. No wonder she'd been called a sorceress -- she was bewitching. However, would the Zerui accept a child that was half interloper as their Warlord? Would they accept Renna as the wife of a Warlord, when they could not accept her even as a slave? And most importantly, could he, would he, did he dare agree to what she offered? Was it wrong?

"Renna. I... I do not think you know of what you speak." Zeru paused. He had had to reject so many as a young man, knowing that he would have to be wed to his sister -- and she had fled, and left him Amaya, his second choice, a begrudging match -- he did not need to be callous now, as he had been then. This woman was different; grief-stricken, ashamed, nonsensical. Incredible. He had to be gentle -- and that was something new to Zeru. "You are upset," he continued. "You are exhausted, Renna, I can see it in your face. This is not what you want; it's just grief, speaking with your voice. What you offer, it wouldn't make you happy, I know this. You would only encounter more resistance, more struggle. And I, Renna... I am an old man. You do not want this. You cannot think that. I... you have made me a kind offer, and I love you for it, but given time to think, time to find peace... you will change your mind."

OOC: Sorry for craptasticness!! D: