The stench of dried piss and vomit soaked the night air, framing well the pained muttering and groaning of the prisoners. Rust roughened chains and frayed hempen ropes dangled from the backs of wagons, keeping dozens of humans tied in place. Sora grimaced at the festering blood and puss building around the ankle bindings of the other prisoners, uncomfortably aware of quickly chafing skin beneath her own ropes.

She stood in the muck, the cloth sandals on her feet already soaked through with filth. Her arms and legs burned with an itching, aching pain where the centipede monsters’ pierced her flesh with their needle-like legs. It was an uncomfortably constant reminder of her own stupidity.

Sora cursed herself for a fool over and over, muttering and kicking at the mess beneath her feet until somebody threw it back at her. The heat boiled over inside herself, then all she could do was stew. She became a boiling pot of frustration, the underpinnings of fear twinging her heart, only managing to flare her temper further.

Men, women, and children were all huddled together in the miserable night around her, some sleeping upright, others leaning on each other in the packed mass of people. Sora kept herself slightly apart from the others, and not only because of her discomfort. She was taller than most of them, including the men, and built thicker in both arms and legs. Her complexion wasn’t too far off from some of the darker people, but she was still quite obviously not from the northern continent, and even in such conditions, few appeared tolerant of that fact.

All across the camp, the ant creatures scuttled about, some on all six limbs, others upright on two or four, carting things from one tent to another, striped gasters plump with something so dark a red it nearly seemed black.

Occasionally, Sora glimpsed one of the more monstrous creatures as they cleared away land for others to bring large sharpened stakes of wood to plant in the ground like the quills of a pincushion fowl. It seemed to her that they were doing more than just resting for the evening.

Somebody tugged at the edge of her frayed skirts, and Sora glanced down to find a young girl, hand still gripping the well-worn fabric. The way her eyes settled on Sora, full of an empty darkness she knew far too well, sent a shiver down her spine.

“Yes?” Sora said briskly, then, at the girl’s furrowing brow, realized she probably didn’t understand Varin. She tried again in Liocinian, the unfamiliar words difficult on her tongue. The little she knew of the language came from her jah annan training, but she’d only had a few occasions to use it before, so her grasp of the tongue was rough at best.

A slight smile curled the girl's lips, her gaze still hollow as if the humor was a mere delusion, a momentary distraction from the pain.

“Yes?” Sora tried a third time, frowning at the girl. “What of it?”

The girl waved towards the huddled group of people, still smiling, gaze still seemingly empty. Sora gave the girl a slow shake of her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine where I am.” And she was. Sora stood between the huddled prisoners on the wagon, granting her the cover of a crowd while also allowing her to watch nearly the whole of the camp.

“Go back,” Sora said slowly. “Your mother will miss you.” She tried to add sweetness to her tone but was uncertain if she succeeded. That wasn’t exactly something she often had reason to use either.

A blank-eyed stare was all she got from the girl, so Sora tried again, but at the word mother, the girl’s eyes teared slightly. There was no pinching of skin around the eyes, no trembling lip or shudder to the girl’s body. She just cried silently in the dark, clinging to Sora’s stolen skirts.

Inexplicably, a worm of guilt wriggled into Sora’s chest. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so, without knowing what she was doing, Sora’s hand found the top of the girl’s head, filth-caked hair crackling under her touch. She didn’t apologize. Sora didn’t do anything, she didn’t know what she could do.

After a few more awkward moments, Sora did her best to push the child away, both physically and mentally. The girl’s mother would find her soon enough, and Sora had better things to focus on.

The morantai seemed to be erecting a small fort around the camp for some reason she couldn’t discern. There was no reason she could figure as to why they would start building a fort in the middle of a forest like this. Perhaps they were concerned about an assault? Or maybe there was a resource here necessary or desirable for the morantai? She sighed. Speculation would get her nowhere.

The night sky was little more than a fog of black above. Smoke from the half a dozen bonfires billowed up in thick greasy curtains, both wild game and humans rotating on spits and boiling in pots above the flames. Another tug at her skirts drew Sora’s gaze away from the grisly scene.

Again, the girl held onto her, staring up at Sora with that half-dead gaze. “What?” Sora said sharply, tugging her skirt from the girl’s hands.

Stumbling from the force, the girl’s mouth opened in a silent wail. Her hands fumbled towards the skirts, but Sora kept them just out of reach.

“Go huddle with the others. I’m not your mother.” She stared at the girl’s still, teary eyed face, and, after a long moment, Sora’s battle-forged heart gave, and she sighed, folding her arms beneath her breasts.

“Alright, fine,” she said, letting the girl retake hold of her skirts. She hesitated for a moment, giving Sora a searching look, before inching closer, then suddenly wrapped her arms around Sora’s legs, burying her face in Sora’s side. Refecivily, Sora moved to push the girl away, but stopped herself. She could be soft for one night she supposed.

Resolving to let this only be a one-time affair, Sora settled back against the wagon’s rear gate, the girl shivering in the folds of her skirt. She looked up to the moon above, Mito’s purple-black sheen obscuring the majority of its pale blue light. If she could use that power, perhaps she could escape, summon one of the roasting corpses to fight for her and free her from her bonds.

Her mind began to drift, the weariness of pain washing over her. She blinked, staring into the bright flames of the nearest fire, then blinked again and jerked awake.

The sky above was pale blue with morning light, clouds drifting in lazy lines. The girl was gone, which Sora figured was for the best. Hopefully, the child’s mother had finally seen fit to take her back.

The small wall of wooden stakes had become a full palisade around the camp, but Sora could still hear the busy scrabble of labor from the other side as if somebody or something were digging up the soft forest earth. One of the massive trees tottered on the other side of the palisade before tipping forward with an ear-splintering crack that echoed through the forest, sending birds into panicked flight.

The humans were all still huddled together near the back of the wagon. Some sat down in the filth as they watched the ant-like creatures at work. The bonfires from the night before were little more than tame cooking coals now, the gristly remnants of the morantai’s last meal glinting wetly in the sunlight. Sora felt her gorge rise at the thought of what had been above those flames the night before.

Sora moved to join the other prisoners, earning a handful of empty gazes and at least one glare from the group which she full-heartedly returned. Somebody tapped gently on her shoulder as Sora passed into the group, and she turned to find a woman’s dirt plastered face around to meet her stare.

Forgetting how to speak Liocinian properly in her sudden alarm, Sora asked, “what do you want?” to the woman. She cursed herself for the slip up, heart calming a bit before restating her question. “What?”

The woman just stared at her for a long moment, and Sora pulled free from the other woman's grip. The woman eyed Sora up and down in a brisk but searching glance, then spoke in clipped but clear Varin. “What are you planning to do with Lulana?” She asked.

Sora was so taken aback by the familiar words, she found herself stumbling for a reply. “You, ah, speak my language? How did you know I’m Varin?”

The woman’s face was flat as cut stone. “I didn’t until just now, know that you’re Varin, I mean. I just know the southern continent uses it more often than not. It’s useful when you work on the decks of a feol trading ship.”

Brows raised, Sora said, “if you served aboard a trade ship, then how did you end up here?” She asked the question with evident surprise in her voice, slightly annoyed that she could let her jah annan tranquility slide away so easily.

The woman’s expression remained flat. “That was a long time ago. You’re avoiding my question, girl. What are your intentions for Lulana?”

Sora’s confusion must have been self evident because the woman then said, “the girl, the one clinging to you last night.”

“Oh,” Sora said. “Are you her mother?”

A crease wrinkled the woman’s brow, and the woman gave her a contemptuous scowl that could have turned sand molten. “No,” she said. “Of course I’m not. But surely you would know. Those are Javeane’s clothes you're wearing.”

Cold understanding suddenly washed through Sora at the woman’s words. That probably explained a lot about how the other’s acted towards her. Suddenly there was a weight on her skirt, and Sora glanced down to find the girl, Lulana, clinging to her.

“Well how was I to know that?” Sora said with an indignant air, giving the woman a glare in return before staring down at the mud covered girl holding onto her. Her frustration began to mount, and before she could think, she pushed the girl away, words tumbling from her mouth in a heated mess of half blown glass. “Look, I just found these clothes in the forest. I got lost, cold, with only a damn cloak on my back. What should I have done? Let nature reclaim the clothes?”

From her expression, the woman hadn’t budged an inch in her obvious belief that Sora was somehow involved in this Javeane’s murder. She felt slightly guilty from the look of fear in the girl’s eyes, but told herself that it was a good thing. Maybe the child would leave her alone.

“Let’s say I believe that story, it still doesn’t answer my question,” the woman said as Sora’s temper settled slightly.

“I have no stars damned ‘intentions’,” Sora said flatly. “I don’t even know why she’s been clinging to me since she won’t say a word. Honestly, I’d be happy if she just left me alone.”

The woman’s gaze was piercing, as if she could see the words written on Sora’s soul. It made her shudder inside.

“The girl is mute,” the woman finally said. “But I believe you have no intentions towards her. So long as it stays that way you won’t have any trouble from me.”

Sora let out an exasperated breath. “Anyone else going to take issue with me?” She asked, one hand on her hip as she surveyed the other humans. Most were ignoring her, but a few still shot murderous glares in her direction.

“They shouldn’t. I imagine most of them are too afraid of you to do anything. One of them claimed you were wearing glass when the morantai were dragging you in, and now they all fear you.”

“Silverglass?” Sora asked. She’d never heard it reduced to just ‘glass’ before. “Why would my wearing silverglass make them afraid of me?”

The woman frowned, then nodded in apparent remembrance. “I forget the star-touched aren't feared in your land, starborn you call them. Here in the north any born with the power are seen as cursed in some way, every village or town has their own superstitions. The real danger is from Mora’s servants and the katori. Even before the wall fell, both were quick to track the star-touched down, and both left a fair amount of damage in their wake.”

“Ah,” Sora said, then thought of a moment. “If that’s the case, then why aren’t you afraid of me?” The question was supposed to be one of curiosity, but it came out as more of a challenge.

“I’m a well traveled woman,” the woman said. “Superstition doesn’t scare me, and I know the limits of kar.”

“Fair enough,” Sora said begrudgingly. She looked down at Lulana, the girl’s frightened look still plastered to her face. Guilt roiled in her stomach as a thought came to her. “Is she starborn then? The others seem to hate her nearly as much as they do me.”

The woman nodded. “Most of them blame her for the morantai’s raid on our city. She’s been silent since her father’s death, so I think they see her as an easy target to take out their frustration. It wasn’t so bad when Javeane was here, but since she and her son disappeared the only one between the girl and the others has been me.”

As they spoke, a group of smaller morantai dragged several long stakes across the ground, leaving deep furrows in the damp dirt. The camp was quickly shapeshifting into a fort, the ant-like monster’s working in rapid coordination to build the wooden defenses.

“Do you know why they’re building all this?” Sora asked, watching the monsters work.

The woman pursed her lips, then replied, “this camp lays at the junction of two major roads, the two largest in the kingdom. Anybody fleeing east to Met or bringing supplies north to the wall has to pass through here or go around.”

“Makes sense I suppose,” Sora said almost idly. “Cut off escape and resupply in one go. Also bar a potential advance of troops from the east.” They continued to watch the morantai work, the conversation flatlining. Sora felt a tentative tug on her skirt and glanced down to find Lulana.

An expression of apprehension mixed with a gut wrenching hope played across the girl’s face. Sora sighed. “Go on,” she said. The girl took a firmer hold of the cloth, then threw herself wholeheartedly against Sora’s leg, cheek pressed to her thigh. Sora let out a tired sigh.

“She’s taken to you quite quickly,” the woman said, a slight smile playing on her lips.

Sighing again, Sora replied, “seems so.” She paused, then asked, “how did you all end up here?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “I already told you that the morantai sacked our city. They carried off the few of us they could find, but we’ve lost about half our number since then. I think there are barely twenty of us left now.”

“Any plan to escape?” Sora asked after a moment of quiet for the grim number. She knew all too well how hard a thing death could be.

“No, but do you really think I’d tell you, a stranger whose name I don’t even know, if there was such a plan?”

Sora thought about it for a moment, then stuck out her hand towards the woman. “Sora,” she said simply. The woman stared at it for a long moment before grasping it with her and giving Sora a weak smile.

“Rhian,” she said quietly. They released hands and Rhian continued, “I suppose I can trust you’re not a cultist, but there really isn’t a plan for escape. At least, I’m not aware of any.”

Sora frowned. “Cultist? Why would you think I’m a cultist?”

“The cult of Mora aren’t usually too far away from their ‘sacred demigods.’ It wouldn’t surprise me if one or two of them tried to plant themselves among us to garner trust and recruit some to turn traitor.”

“Well they sound friendly,” Sora said in mock cheerfulness, and Rhian snorted. Against her leg, Sora felt Lulana’s stomach rumble slightly and frowned down at the girl who was now looking up at her. She suddenly felt her own hunger like a sword wound in the gut and sighed. Again. “How often do they feed us?”

“Enough to keep us alive. We’re little more than cattle for them I think, livestock to tend and slaughter as needed.”

Sora grimaced. “Do you think they’ll be feeding us soon?”

Rhian shook her head. “I doubt it. Food supplies seemed to be running out, hence last night’s feast.”

Idly placing a hand atop the girl’s head, Sora said bitterly, “well, if they don’t feed us soon I might start eating these damn ropes.”

Rhian gave her a slight smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling. Suddenly she said, “it’s nice to meet you, Sora, warrior of the south.”

Sora found herself smiling back almost reflexively. “It’s nice to meet you too, trader Rhian.”

They weren’t fed that night, nor did the ants even seem to acknowledge the humans’ existence. Instead, they simply continued to build their small fort.

Night fell, and Sora tried again to master her mitokar, or at least take hold of it. Jotaranell had told her she shouldn’t need silverglass to use the dark star’s power anymore, and she’d seen it firsthand with the rodent, but no matter how she tried, nothing seemed to work. Instead, the girl just stared at her in a hunger induced delirium, huddled between the wagon’s wheels.

It was hard for Sora to tell the girl’s age through the layers of grime and filth, but if she had to guess, the child seemed to be no older than six. Sora wasn’t sure how to feel about the girl now, but she was certain that nothing good would come from Lulana staying by her side. She once again resolved to keep the girl at a distance for her own good.

On the third day of her imprisonment, a new wagon appeared from the north, men and women in yellow-white robes pulled by a large reptilian creature built thick as the trees around them, colored a similar pale brown. Its wedge-like head was muzzled, a chain around its neck keeping it tethered to the cart.

“Cultists,” Rhian said when Sora asked about the people in the yellow-white robes. “Looks like they’ve brought supplies. We might get to eat tonight.”

Stomach grumbling at the thought of food, Sora, Lulana and Rhian all watched as the cultists began unloading their supplies, crates, and sacks piling up on wooden pallets near the center of the camp. Watching them carry the supplies away, Sora wondered where all the food had come from.

Sora hadn’t realized she’d asked the question out loud until Rhian said, “probably a nearby village or town. There are several around here thanks to the trade between Liocene and Met. Though I suppose it could have been carted here from beyond the wall.”

Blinking at the other woman in momentary bewilderment, Sora blurted, “the morantai have farms?”

With a shrug, Rhian said, “why not? They’re monsters, but even monsters need to eat. It would make sense for there to be at least a semblance of instruction beyond the wall.”

Before Sora could ask another question, one of the cultists approached with a basket of obviously overripe fruits.

“Hello, my child. Far from home, are you not?” The man asked, holding out one of the misshapen green fruits towards her.

She took it gingerly from his thin, boney fingers, careful not to accidentally mash the thing in her hand. Sora had no clue what to say to the man. As her silence stretched on, the man’s peaceable smile flickered, then faded all together.

“Well, girl? Speak up,” he said, his tone losing some of its previous softness.

Sora glanced aside towards Rhian only to find she’d gone back to the huddled prisoners. She scowled, then turned back to the cultist. Lulana was still clutching to her skirt, so Sora offered her the fruit. For a moment, she wondered if it was poisoned, then brushed the thought away.

As the girl reached to take the food from Sora, the man smacked her hand away, eliciting a sharp yelp from Lulana. She fled behind Sora, shuddering with blatant fear.

“That portion is for you, not the child,” he said, and an oiled scowl splashed across his face.

“Why not?” Sora asked, tone dangerous, but the man only scowled harder.

“If you want to starve, that’s your choice, I guess. Just trying to be friendly,” he said, in the least friendly tone Sora had ever heard from a man. He turned from her and stormed back to the crate of half-rotting food.

Reaching back behind her, Sora offered the fruit to Lulana again, and the girl gingerly took it, glancing at the cultist’s back as she took a large, wet bite from the mushy thing. Sora sighed and urged the girl back towards the wagon. Rhian caught her eye from the huddled prisoners, apology in her gaze, but Sora turned away from her. Somebody had made it abundantly clear how things were to be between them.