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"Ah, Azuth," Amira grumbled. "I hate the Wastes."

* * * * *

As late afternoon deepened to evening, Amira saw the sun for the last time for many days. Still wrapped in the elk-hide blanket against the cold, she stood just inside the edge of the copse. The glowing rim of the sun dropped out of the edge of the farthest clouds and was two fingers' width from touching the horizon when Amira heard howling. First she thought it was the wind, but then she caught the mournful melody, rising and falling off the south. Others answered it. Wolves were coming. Many wolves.

She turned and made the short walk back into camp. The two remaining horses were skittish, their ears flicking, their feet stamping, and the whites of their eyes showing as they tossed their heads.

The belkagen still sat beside the fire. He was gnawing on a bit of horseflesh-a raw piece, Amira noticed, and turned away. Gyaidun was sitting on the very edge of camp, his back against a tree, Durja nestled in his lap. He was staring off into nothing and did not so much as glance her way. The open hostility between the two men was gone, but there was still a palpable tension in camp. It had been a large reason for her decision to take a walk.

"I heard wolves," she said.

"The Vil Adanrath," said the belkagen. "Haerul is coming."

"Why do they howl?"

The belkagen glanced at Gyaidun. "They announce their presence. They wish us to know they are here, but they will not share fire with Gyaidun."

"It is the omah nin's way of telling me to get back to my camp and stay there," said Gyaidun.

More howls drifted off the southern steppe, and both horses gave a nervous whicker. Amira remembered Gyaidun telling her that horses could not abide the presence of the Vil Adanrath, and something occurred to her.

"Belkagen," she said. "Why do the horses not fear you? You are Vil Adanrath, are you not?"

"Yes," said the belkagen, "and no. The calling of the belkagen leaves us… changed."

"I don't understand."

Gyaidun snorted.

The belkagen gave him a dark look, then stood up. "I should lead the horses away. Lendri will likely be arriving soon."

"What will you do with them?" she asked.

"Gifts for Haerul and his pack," the belkagen said as he untied the horses' hobbles. "They will be hungry after such a long journey, and a little hospitality might soften the mood of the omah nin."

Amira found a place by the fire as the belkagen disappeared off into the trees with the two frightened horses. The strips of horseflesh-now cooked-hung from a small rack near the fire. Her stomach rumbled but she winced.

"Not hungry?" said Gyaidun.

"I'm starving."

"Then eat."

"My family raises horses. Some of the finest in Cormyr-the finest anywhere. Horses are for riding, not eating."

In the distance, Amira heard the sudden scream of the horses followed by the sound of galloping hooves.

"Not in the Wastes," said Gyaidun. At first, she thought he was mocking her "outlander ways" again, but his voice held no scorn as he continued. "Even the Tuigan, who care for their horses more than any people I've ever known, eat horseflesh. There is no shame in it."

"Would you eat Durja?"

The raven looked at her, his head twisting sideways, and cawed at her as if he understood.

"Durja is a friend," said Gyaidun.

"When I was a little girl, horses were my friends."

"You're not a little girl anymore."

The breeze slackened, and as the boughs and dry leaves settled, Amira heard another distant whinny, harsh and terrified, almost like the scream of a woman, and behind it she thought she caught the sound of growling. She shuddered.

Amira took a deep breath and looked to Gyaidun. The gloom of evening was deepening, and seated as he was under the tree, she could not tell if he was looking at her or not. "Gyaidun?" she said.

"Yes?"

"Tonight when I… seek the oracle, you know I am trying to help my son?"

"Yes." His voice was flat.

"But if… if there is anything I can do to help your son, I will."

He said nothing for a