The sweet smell of corn porridge mixed with the gamey venison sausage wafted from the Odion tent when Gar and Petoskey returned from warm-ups. Kindra was gone, of course, waiting at Oak’s tent for the chief to return, but Gar was still surprised to find breakfast waiting for them. He’d had no idea Kindra could do something so domestic as cook. The porridge was bland, but he couldn’t have done any better.

“Do you think Oak’ll let her back in?” Gar asked before spooning a bite of porridge.

Petoskey finished chewing a piece of sausage and swallowed. “No, but only because I don’t think she can be that repentant. She’ll try at first, then he’ll say something that angers her, and she’ll fight back.” He took another thoughtful bite. “She’s just like her father.”

“That’s not bad.”

Petoskey shook his head. “Not when you’re looking to fight, but Fennec was never a man of peace. He wanted battle. He wanted glory. He got them both—at too steep a price.”

Gar’s porridge turned to stone in his stomach and he dropped his spoon into the bowl with a sigh. “It’s never going to work, is it?”

Petoskey studied his bowl and frowned. “It was never going to work. I hoped her being a woman would temper that spirit, but it has only brought it out more.”

“Her father taught her to be twice as tough as the boys.”

“He should have taught her to be half as nice.”

Gar shrugged and ate the rest of his breakfast dutifully. “We can’t let Oak win.”

Petoskey placed his empty bowl on the rug beneath his feet. “We won’t, but we need a better plan. If Kindra’s not a warrior there must be some other way she can influence the tribe.”

It hung in the air between them. The only way a woman could influence the tribe was to become a priestess—which took training from childhood, and Kindra wouldn’t be suited for either way—or marry a man in one of the ruling families. Osprey or Monk. With Kindra as wife, Monk would have as good a claim to be chief as Osprey, and with enough warriors on their side, they could keep Osprey from becoming chief when Oak died. Even if they couldn’t, as a direct descendent of Ian Odion, any child of Kindra’s had more claim as chief than a child of Osprey.

Gar cleaned the bowls as he thought about it. “She must become a warrior. A named warrior. I’m going to check on Oak’s tent.” Perhaps if she was digging herself a hole, he could help her climb out.

There was no yelling coming from the chief’s tent when Gar arrived—that was a good sign. At least Kindra hadn’t lost her temper yet. Or she was so mad she was speechless.

There was, however, a commotion to the north. Gar ran in that direction in case of an Obsidian attack, but it wasn’t Obsidians at all. It was Kingfisher Bardel, bracing Kindra as she limped next to him. She bleed from both sides of her head, her left arm slung over the warrior’s shoulders and her bloody right arm tucked into her body.

Gar ran over. "What happened?"

Kindra made no effort to speak, so Kingfisher relayed the story for her. "She was trying to go to Fie Obsid and Pike attacked her. I think he was trying to destroy her mark, but she turned, and..."

“She took it…” Kindra mumbled incoherently. “Something’s wrong.”

Gar's heart dropped—she hadn’t gone to speak to Oak at all. "I'll get her home. Find the High Priestess."

Kingfisher handed her over. She whimpered in pain, but walked with Gar, limping and trailing spatters of blood. He had never seen Kindra so indifferent to showing she was injured, and that scared him.

Petoskey stood outside the Odion tent as they approached. “What happened?”

Gar explained what little he knew, and Petoskey’s frown deepened.

“Get her inside. I need to speak with Oak.”

Gar sat her on her cot and took a good look at her injuries. Her right ear was split and bleeding, her lip swollen, one eye beginning to swell shut and there was a deep cut on the left side of her chin. Her right shoulder was a bloody mess, although he couldn't tell if the blood was from her ear or not.

Pushing the hair gently from her face he looked into her open eye. It wasn't dilated, but it wasn't focusing on him either. "Kindra."

The pupil contracted and focused. She didn't speak for a long moment and when she did the words seemed as if they had taken a long, hard journey to get to her mouth.

"You're bleeding." She reached out a bloody hand to touch his face.

"No, you’re bleeding."

Her pupil unfocused again. "I'm fine." Still the words were delayed, as if travelling through water. “Kaye…”

He cupped her cheek and tried to look into her eyes. "What hurts?"

"Everything." That, at least, was immediate. It didn't help him pinpoint the worst injury, so he grabbed a nearby cloth and pressed it to her ear.

"Hold this."

She was staring in shock again, and he moved her hand to hold the cloth. She did as instructed, leaving him to search the tent for a clean cloth and fresh water.

He cleaned the cut on her chin first, watching her face as he did so. The corner of her eye twitched, the only indication she noticed the pain. He moved to her shoulder. The cut there was deep and long, and he could see the white of bone as he cleaned it. She wouldn't be using that arm anytime soon. Before he was finished, the rag and water were dark with blood.

Taking the rag from her hand he inspected her ear. It had stopped bleeding, and he leaned close and whispered, "Kindra, can you hear me?" Her eardrum must not be broken because she began shaking in reply, her body convulsing in shock.

"Shh, it's ok." He sat next to her and held her to keep her from shaking so bad that she hurt herself more. The convulsions moved like waves, starting with her head and moving to her feet. He rubbed her good arm and whispered to her until she calmed and the shaking passed.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Tired."

"I bet you are." He kissed the top of her head before releasing her. "Let's get you bandaged up. The High Priestess will be here soon."

She closed her eyes but kept herself upright as he searched the tent for bandages. Kaye had a large basket of priestess things under her bed, and strips of cloth were included. He tied them around her shoulder and head, ripping away the sleeve to find that the cut went clear down to her elbow. She began shaking again, but only in small spasms that didn't hinder what he was doing.

He helped her into one of her father's warrior shirts that he found in a chest, then pulled her bloody shirt down beneath it and cut it away. Once she was lying on her cot, he put the bloody rags and shirt in a pile next to the foul water and stood.

"I'm going to look for the High Priestess. She should have been here by now." He brushed his fingers across her forehead, and she grabbed weakly for his hand.

"No," she said, her voice weak and rasping. "Don't leave me here alone."

"You need a priestess. I only know first aid."

She squeezed his hand tighter and opened her eyes. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me here to die. Where's Kaye? Get Kaye!"

"Kindra, stop." He pushed her good shoulder onto the cot as she tried to rise. "Kaye is gone, and you aren't going to die.”

She grabbed his hand again and looked him in the eyes, her own wide with fear. "This is how my father died."

It hit him like a blow to the chest. This is how my father died. For a moment he was back at the battle that killed Fennec. He could hear the men screaming, the weapons clashing, and smell the blood. Fennec was fighting three Obsidians. Losing, but fighting on. He survived the day, but Gar knew Kindra's fear. Not to die today but to rot from the inside, losing a battle that lasted moons instead of moments.

He cradled her to his chest, "You're not going to die. I promise. I won't let you die of this." He stroked her hair in an effort to calm his own fears. If Pike killed her...brother or no, Gar could not forgive that.

It was then that Kingfisher poked his head through the door. "I've brought the High Priestess."

Gar helped Kindra lay down and took a step back as the priestess walked in. He bowed his head in respect.

The High Priestess sat on the edge of the cot and turned Kindra's head either way to survey the damage. "I hear the fish attacked the river. I hear the river won, but the fish left deep rents in the stream." She pushed back the corner of the shirt to reveal the bandaged shoulder. "How deep?"

"Too the bone," Gar replied and glanced at Kingfisher, who guarded the door.

The High Priestess flipped the shirt back into place before running her hands over Kindra's body, eyes closed. Gar remembered this from his own injuries—she was searching for the heat of wounds. She stopped over Kindra's ribs, and he prayed she didn't have a punctured lung like her father, then the priestess continued before stopping at her ankle. She lifted the foot, flexed it, nodded and set it down.

"I’ll make her a tea to sleep and a poultice for her wounds. You did a good job cleaning them, and she needs rest more than anything right now. Tomorrow when she wakes, I’ll check for infection.”

She took her bag from the ground and began preparing the tea. She sent Kingfisher to collect fresh water, and instructed Gar to build up the fire.

"She'll be okay, won't she?" Gar asked as the flames licked the wood.

The High Priestess smiled softly. "She is blinding you to your warrior eyes. It is nothing more than another scar and a tale to tell her children."

That caught him off guard. He knew the High Priestess could see the future, but rarely did she speak of it. "She'll have children?"

"She will." She turned back to Kindra, and Gar wondered if the priestess knew who the father would be.