Aresti sat by the fire, praying as he waited for the experimental decoction he labored over to come to a boil. Though the early summer sun was hot on his back and the fire was hot on his face, it took conscious effort of will for him to warm his hands and feet. It was something in his blood, Aresti knew, which made him this way; it didn't have enough force, just as the sap in the oak, his Spirit, froze in winter. For him it was now winter, and he would soon travel the path which Eguzki took every year; the path of death. It might not be for ten more winters, but undoubtedly it would not be more than twenty.

The thought didn't trouble him as much as the one that came with it, its tendrils souring his prayers like the acrid smoke drifting from the sharply pine-scented fire.

Da'Eguzki might be the home of Eguzki no more. Already half of His land had been taken by the interlopers, and Aresti knew that unless they moved drastically and quickly to drive the interlopers back, the Baskar would all die.

Jainko'haritz,* hear my prayer, let me remain strong in my resolve not to let our people fall. Let me stand so that I read for Eguzki's true light, and so that my vision is not clouded by what may come between me and the clear sky. Help me to keep Sagari and my children and grandchildren and particularly Arnas safe. Eguzki, watch over all of the Baskar.

He ended every prayer this way, because he knew that he could not ask Eguzki to favor one family among the Baskar more than another. But he did, and would, ask for the strength to protect his family himself... It was more than Ekain had done. Aresti frowned, troubled. He did not blame Ekain for taking his sister-wife back from the interlopers, but Aresti was wary of bargaining with them, and not sure he approved of the Warlord's eagerness to give in to the interloper King's demands.

When he peered at the pot of herbs, it was boiling, so he settled down to wait until the liquids separated and he could use his cloth strainer on the mixture. It contained some foxglove, and might be dangerous, but he would risk it; his body was strong, and had withstood other experiments in past years.

While he waited, he looked up and spotted a young man he knew (and still thought of in his heart as a boy) passing by.

"Senti," he said, glad for a distraction, smiling at him. "Take a seat, it's been a long time."

*spirit of the oak

Eguntsenti walked along a well worn path encircled the da'Ekain Central Camp and the surrounding areas. This walk seemed to have become a daily routine that would interupt his inner balance if he was to quit. Prayer, meditation, and deep thought governed these walks as he made his way around the camp.

Lately these walks had become more than just daily as the seemingly inavoidable war with the Thiasan and possibly even the Zerui steadily approached. Conflict was something that Eguntsenti did not have often, but for the past few months he has needed the butterfly's guiding wings more than any previous time in his life.

For whatever reason Eguntsenti's meditation and prayer turned towards the Thiasan. Sure, some of them seemed barbaric and uncivilized in their ways of war, but that could not be possible for everyone of their people. If Eguzki wills it negotiations could be made, despite the previous attempt with the Warlord's wife. Maybe he could get a shaman who can speak their language so that he may try to negotiate himself.

A small pillar of smoke of smoke rose into the sky a short distance away, and Eguntsenti seemed drawn to it. He believed that it was the spirit of the butterfly that led him to a nearby fire.

As he got closer to the source of the smoke the stiffness in his left knee elevated through his entire leg. His normal limp increased and he relied more on the spear he was currently using as a walking stick. He whispered a short prayer,

Eguzki and butterfly guide me on the right path.

By the time Eguntsenti reached the epicenter of the smoke he saw the fire on which a pot lay. Aresti sat by the fire and pot, an elder man of the tribe he knew but had not seen in a while. His daily, and recently many more, walking meditations had somewhat disconnected him with others.

The elder smiled at him and offered a seat by his side at the fire. Eguntsenti returned the smile and accepted gratefully, "Thank you, Aresti, I would love to join you. It has been a long time, and I apologize."

Eguntsenti sat down next to Aresti and laid his spear on the ground. He could feel the fire and it was soothing, expecially for his damaged leg which still remained stiff.

Aresti watched the young boy, his eyes calm. Senti was a good boy, even if he seemed to close his eyes to the ways of the world sometimes. There were some people, Aresti knew, who made themselves blind. Their response to suffering was like that of the heathen Thiasan priests: to 'turn the other cheek.' From what Aresti had learned, before the priest had run back to his people, their undead God would reward them with eternal life.

But Thiasan soldiers died just like any of the Baskar, and their spirits fled, too, he was sure, into Eguzki's all-encompassing embrace. And a body without a spirit, without that peculiar mixture of flesh and soul, was nothing. It was, Aresti was absolutely convinced, in the interaction between soul and body that the spark of life burgeoned. And in their cleaving that it flickered out.

They celebrated death. These people who celebrated peace had interpreted it as men are wont to do, because the only peace is in death. And so they made war, and the Baskar had to make war in retaliation. Aresti could understand the bloodthirsty Zerui better than the Thiasans. They at least knew the value of the blood sacrifices they made, and understood the weight of death, and the cost of peace and prosperity.

He probably understood the Zerui better than most Ekaini, and so he kept his own counsel on the matter.

But Senti was young, and he'd suffered, and he was entitled to his opinions, much as what he had heard of them disturbed Aresti. He sighed, breathing in the acrid smoke from his fire, and shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his face was calm again.

"How are you, my boy?" Aresti began to strain his decoction carefully, catching the dark, sour liquid in a cup for future use. "How's your leg? If you keep it tightly wrapped in wet leather, with cotton inside, you my find it aches less." He gave him a sympathetic smile. "I can sort that out for you later, if you like. Enough of the body. How is your spirit?"