The strange birds were much louder at night. The thought occurred to him, accompanied by a thrill of unease, that perhaps not all the calls he heard were from birds. His hammock hung ten yards up in the trees, surrounded by the webbing of the defenders. The vaela were uneasy as well; he could hear their tense movements and tentative huffs at the air below. The hammocks used by the riders were designed with two strong cords that drew together when weight was applied, closing overtop of the sleeper and ensconcing them in the silken bag. They slept in their mail and silks with swords resting atop them. It was far too hot for comfort. Normally, Tirlav relished the sensation of being closed in his hammock to rest, but now he hated lying and hearing the unusual sounds. He knew that many hundreds of vien were awake in the trees around, but it did not matter.

Since they had departed the High Tir, Tirlav had kept himself occupied. Now, as he lay in his hammock during his first night in the Mingling, he thought of Jareen. This was only the seventh night since the time he'd spent with her in the arbor, but it felt much, much longer. Many times during the days since, he had reimagined every moment of that meeting. He could hardly believe what had happened. Such a thing, unmarried, with an Insensitive he had known for mere weeks. His sister would disown him if she knew. Courtship among the Vien lasted years, sometimes decades.

He'd had neither to spare.

Despite his lack of sleep, Tirlav had brought the company to readiness the next day, the smell of Jareen still in his hair. They waited upon their vaela, drawn up in ordered array in the spacious grove, their lines broken only by massive old ebony trees. The additional vaela, burdened with supplies of silk, arrowheads, wine, dried fruits, and many other necessities, waited restlessly behind them.

"Company," Hormil had called, shouting to be heard by all. "The order has come. You go to the Mingling. I am not coming with you. The Synod has placed Tirlav, Son of Aelor, in command of the company. Obey him by decree. Go with the blessing of Findel."

And with not a word more, Hormil wheeled his vaela and rode away. Tirlav stared after him, hardly believing that was all his liel would say. Selnei rode up to him.

"I choose to ride with the Lishni contingent," he said. "But I will lead you first to the Mingling."

"As you will, but is not Shéna your home?"

"I do not wish to hear of home."

Selnei extended a hand out to Tirlav. In it he held a commander's plume, a vibrant yellow. He took what was offered and nodded to the veteran. Selnei slapped his chest and moved aside. Tirlav had looked at the faces of the company. Most of them he did not even know by name.

"The Synod decrees!" he had shouted, because it seemed like the right thing to say, the kind of thing one was supposed to say. He sang his vaela forward, and so the ride to the Mingling had begun.

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Tirlav was sweating in his hammock as he remembered again and again the night and day that had so changed him. Sleep felt like a distant hope. It was said that the weather was unpredictable in the Mingling. Rather than the cool night breezes, mists, and soft rains he was used to, the air was humid and even hotter than during the day.

A cry erupted from the forest to the east. It was not a howl, nor any utterance a bird could make. Tirlav spun out of his hammock, landing in a crouch on the webbing, clutching his sheathed swords. The call faded, but another took its place, a little further to the north. It was a deep, resonant call, with a vibrato or a clicking roll. Next came a series of huffs and hoos, far deeper than any owl could make. Others in the company were out of their hammocks, stringing bows and readying arrows. Now the calls broke out all across the east. Tirlav had not yet seen the eastern clearing, but he suspected it was much the same as the portion they had crossed to reach the grove.

It was difficult to tell how many of the creatures there might be, whatever they were.

"Glentel!" he called, looking around. In the surprise, he had forgotten where Glentel's hammock was strung.

"Liel?"

Tirlav spun around, grasping at the chain about his neck that held the silver whistle.

"Go to Liel Sholrodan's canopy and receive our disposition."

Tirlav put the whistle to his lips and blew the notes for assembly at the vaela.

"Go back to sleep, Sail Chasers!" a voice called. Another laughed from below. Tirlav looked down to see a group of vien passing along the ground at the trot, bows and sword in hand, heading east. "You will find no pirates here," another called up.

"What is it?" Tirlav asked them.

"Quth," came the response. "They harry the sentries." The vien did not use the formal acknowledgment of his rank, but it was dark and Tirlav had not donned his plume.

"Then we will join in the defense."

"Go back to sleep, riders," the vien called back, looking up into the branches. "Or you will never sleep again. They come every night and days beside. You will be called if wanted." With that, the warrior trotted off with the rest of his cadre.

Tirlav felt himself flush from embarrassment. It stung, but after a hesitation, he raised the whistle again and blew the notes for the company to stand down.

"Liel?" Glentel asked. "Should I still go to the Liel High Commander?"

"No," Tirlav answered. Without any sign that they were wanted in the defense and with evidence to the contrary, he would not direct his riders into who-knew-what. The sense of ignorance and humiliation did not dissipate. Why had Hormil not better prepared them for how to fit into this strange army or what to expect? The interview with Liel Sholrodan had done nothing to ease his mind.

The vien nearby—mostly of Aelor—remained poised, weapons clutched. The cries to the east continued. Tirlav realized his muscles were flexed, and he tried to relax, taking a breath.

"Back to sleep," he said, loud enough to be heard for a short distance on either side. "Back to sleep." He knew he would not sleep, not with those calls filling the night. There were shouted words in the chaos, uttered in the same strange timbre and tongue.

So that was how quth sounded? He had heard of them his whole life. There was a part of him drawn by curiosity. Perhaps he should go and see what was happening on the eaves of the forest. After all, as the company liel, he should find out all he could about this place. Another part feared the thought of approaching, of making a fool of himself again.

The warrior had said he would be called if wanted. His duty was to remain with his company, for if Liel Sholrodan sent command while he was away, it would be a shame to him. He climbed back into his hammock, but he did not sleep.

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