Stronric rested his hands on his knees and let the quiet stand, then he bowed his head.

"Mother of the Hearth," Stronric said, barely above a whisper, "hold this ring. Warm their bones. Make the work of this day settle right inside them. Take the strength we earned and set it true. Give us rest that teaches, breath that returns easy, and knit what you judge fit to mend."

He did not raise his voice or ask for spectacle. He spoke as a craftsman speaks to a bench that has carried weight for years. The coals answered first. A mild light drew together in the center of each bed and spread outward in slow circles. It was not bright, but it was honest and slow like heat spreading along a heating iron.

The glow crossed the ground and touched Rugiel where she slept. Her breath deepened and with it he saw some of the tension of her shoulders ease. The mark of Morgal on her hand warmed a shade and then rested. It climbed the trunk to where the Canary watched and smoothed the raptor's ruffled edge. It ran along the forked branch to Bauru and softened the stubborn crease between his brow and his eye. It found Dane and laid a quiet weight over his chest like a good blanket. His jaw unclenched and his hands opened. The sleep that took him after that was the kind a man earns. As the light passed over Serene, she stirred slightly rolling over to face the fire. Stronric could see the weight of fatigue her magic had cost her in the paleness of her flesh, and the dark circles under her eyes. However as the light continued over her, she exhaled deeply and the faint pink color began to spread up from her collar, relaxing her weary face.

The line of light went to the tree where Kara leaned. It hesitated there as a flame does when wind meets it, and then it slid past her and settled on Giles. It did not pool as deeply on him as it had on the others. It did not refuse him either. It made a thin layer, enough to smooth the twitch at the corner of his eye and slow the hard rhythm beneath his ribs.

A faint script arranged itself at the edge of Stronric's sight. It did not sing. It simply stood where it belonged.

New skill acquired: Hearth's Shelter, Thoranthana.

The temporary buff of Hearth and Home.

Health regeneration has slightly improved.

Stamina regeneration has slightly improved.

Experience gained has slightly improved.

Stronric let his breath go. He did not reach for the line to test it. He did not poke the blessing like a man prods a cooling bar to see if it is still hot. He watched the shape of it instead. Dane's breathing steadied. Bauru's fingers eased. Rugiel's mouth lost the last hard line that pain sometimes drew across it when she slept after a fight. Even the small cuts on Stronric's own knuckles looked cleaner where he had nicked himself on scale. The ache in his ribs did not vanish. It turned down to something a man could ignore until morning began.

"Thank ye," he said. He spoke to the coals, to the space above them, and to the memory of warm stone that had held him safe in older halls. He did not ask for more. He did not name what he had received a second time. He sat as a guard sits, content with the weight of a thing done properly.

He checked each hearth then, not because the blessing demanded it, but because order does not keep itself. He shifted a plate so the inside faced the right heat. He touched the pot and found the fat setting clean and white around the edge. He tightened two knots on the drying line and flicked a last pinch of salt across the near rack. The pouch sat by his knee with its new burden balanced. He laid a hand on it, felt the quiet push of fullness, and left it closed.

The camp sank a little deeper into sleep. The glow on the coals thinned back to its proper size. The rabbit tucked its head. Stronric watched the edges of the light. He watched the dark beyond it. He watched the people he had chosen to keep. The night kept faith and he kept the watch.

Morning came as a soft gray along the waterline. Stronric had not closed his eyes. He watched the dark thin, watched the coals hold their shape, and felt the clean air move through his chest. The ache was there, but it had stepped back. The cuts on his knuckles had set thin skins and did not pull when he closed his hand. The Mother's blessing had settled where it needed to, even without sleep.

He walked the circle of hearths. He pressed the backs of his fingers to each bed and read the heat. He drew their mouths open with a stick and fed them just enough split driftwood to wake a proper flame. The small pot of rendered fat had set white and solid. He cut a finger's length into a tin and put the rest in the pouch. It pushed back at his hand again as if the idea of a wall lived there. He set the tin aside for breakfast.

The blessing's script hovered at the edge of his sight when he looked for it. It did not ask for attention. It stated its terms. Rest improved. Stamina returned more quickly. Lessons from the day set deeper. Minor hurts began to close. He nodded once and let the line go.

The sleepers stirred one by one. Bauru opened his eye in the fork of the cypress and came down with the same care he used when he went up. Dane rolled to his side and sat with his shield still under his head, then stood and stretched until the joints along his back made small honest sounds. Rugiel woke with the rabbit still folded into her arms. She blinked, smiled in the small way that meant she had taken real rest, and sat up. Kara was not where she had slept. Giles lay alone with the print of a hand still faint on his brow.

Stronric set three small pans on the hottest bed and let a thumb of fat melt clean. He cut thin strips from one of the reserved parcels and laid them down so they kissed the iron and tightened. The scent moved across the ring. It was not heavy. It had a clean edge to it. He added water to a pot and set it to warm for tea. He cut four thick slices of flatbread from a wrapped cloth and laid them near the coals until the faces took a little color.

Bauru joined him first. He sniffed once, rubbed at his jaw with the back of his hand, and looked at the slabs resting on the rack that had dried through the night.

"That is good work," he said. "How much did ye fit?"

"Enough to complain," Stronric said. "The pouch takes it, but it mutters when I push."

Bauru took a strip, chewed, and nodded once. He thumbed the tin of fat, snapped a dried sinew, and tapped one of the skinned dragon's plates before setting them back.

"That's D," he said. "First rung, right enough. This one drank the world slow, no true spring. Ye can feel the charge still sittin' in the marrow after a night. The fat sets clear and holds a ring when ye cut it. The plates grew in thick layers like coins. The sinew dried to glass string, not milky thread. If it were E the power'd be lighter and wouln't sit as heavy. If it were C the air'd be pressin' on us and yer cuts would be closin' faster. Call it D and be done." "Dane called the same," Stronric said. "He laughed at A."

"Aye, as he should," Bauru said. "An A eats towns and the folk in them and then looks up to see what it missed." He took another strip and chewed. "This is a fair kill for a good day and a better breakfast. We'll feel the carry for a while."

Dane stepped in with that and held his hands out for bread and meat. He took both without ceremony and stood beside them while he ate. He worked like a man putting fuel where it belongs, not like a hungry boy setting a record. When he finished, he set his plate down and breathed out. His eyes went distant for a heartbeat as if he were looking at something only he could see.

"I feel as if I slept in a bed that was made for me," he said. "And my numbers agree. Stamina full, wounds ticking cleaner, and there is a line here called Hearth's Shelter. Where did we get that?"

"The blessing helped," Stronric said.

Dane raised an eyebrow at him. Stronric nodded toward the coals.

"I asked for the Mother to hold us. She answered in the way she does. You took what you earned and she helped it set where it needed to set."

Dane looked at his hands, flexed them, and found a smile he did not have to tug into place. "Then I will not waste it."

Rugiel came to the fire with the rabbit held close against her breast. She stood before Stronric and let her gaze rest on him for a measured heartbeat, then she looked to his hands, and only then did she lower her eyes to the work at his feet. She set the rabbit down with care. It settled at her heel and was still.

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She reached over her shoulder and drew something free from beneath her cloak. A square of clean cloth lay about it, bound with a neat fold. She held the bundle with both palms and offered it forward as one would return a trusted charge to its rightful keeper.

"I have kept faith with this," she said, her voice low and even. "When the roots seized you and you were taken from us, it fell from your grasp. I would not leave it to the mire. Pray, take your axe back, for it has missed your hand." She paused, and the composure in her eyes softened. "Forgive me that it did not find you sooner. Weariness overcame me last night and I forgot what I ought to have remembered."

Stronric rose. He did not snatch. He received the bundle as a man receives a guest. He set the cloth upon his knee and unwrapped it. The iron showed true. The cheek held its tone. The line of temper along the edge was dark and fine, the same thin shadow it had always carried when the hardening had taken perfectly. He turned the haft and found the marks that only he would know. A shallow bruise from an old parry. A small stain near the cap where a night in wet stone had left its memory. The leather had dried straight. The pins had not been lifted.

He laid the axe across his palms and let the balance answer him. It settled where it belonged, midway between the hands, honest and familiar. He felt the weight in the arms and at once knew what his feet would do when it rose. He closed his fingers and the haft met the skin like a well known rail on a stair.

"Good to be back," he said to the tool, and the words were simple and without show. Then he looked to Rugiel. "And good to hear ye say it to my face."

Rugiel inclined her head. Gratitude touched her eyes, but it did not spill. "You are kind," she said. "I cleaned the edge and set a little oil upon the cheek so that it might not fret. There is a small nick near the toe which will yield to a few quiet passes upon the stone. I did not presume more. It knows your hand, not mine. And again, I beg your pardon for the delay."

Stronric turned the axe and saw the imperfection where she had said it would be. He smiled with half his mouth. "Aye. I see it." He drew a cloth from his belt and wiped the cheek though it needed little. The firelight ran along the steel and gathered at the edge. The coals seemed to approve in their steady way, as if the hearth was pleased to see an old friend returned to its place.

Rugiel set her palm lightly upon the haft for the span of one breath. It was not a claim. It was a courtesy. "I thank you for coming back to us," she said, the words meant as much for Stronric as for the iron. "You are not a thing I would see lost beneath a root or a lie."

Around the ring Bauru watched from the edge of his attention and said nothing. Dane's mouth eased as if a worry he had not named to himself had found an answer. Giles did not look up, yet even he seemed to breathe with less strain for that quiet moment.

Stronric slid the axe to his dominant hand and felt the old agreement settle in the wrist and shoulder. He opened his pouch and nested the crystal axe inside among the wrapped parcels and tools, shifting the load until the idea of fullness pushed evenly against his palm. The iron he kept in his grip. The haft warmed to him at once.

Rugiel's eyes met his again. There was no speech there, only the rightness of a thing put back where it should stand. She stepped back half a pace and gave him the room that belongs to a man and his craft.

"Thank ye," Stronric said.

"You are most welcome," she answered. "May your hand show as much mercy as truth allows, and no more."

He nodded. He set the heel of the axe upon the ground for a breath and then lifted it clear. The weight sat as it had always sat. The circle of the morning felt steadier for it. The hearth kept its light. The company kept theirs and the work ahead seemed like work that could be done.

Stronric passed plates, the cleaned large scales of the slayed beast, around to those sitting by the fire. He cut more strips of meat, then he tipped a little fat into the tea when it went to Dane. He salted the last of the morning meat and kept the portions fair. They ate with the quiet that means people understand what food is for.

Kara stepped out of the fog while they finished. Her hair held a touch of wetness, and she carried a length of vine with a string of small fish threaded through the mouths. Her face was calm. Her eyes took the measure of the group and then sat a moment on Giles. She handed the fish to Bauru without a word. He nodded and knelt to clean them on the second bed. They would be lunch.

Giles sat with his back to the tree. He had not joined the ring. The relief on his face when he first opened his eyes looked like something the night had set there with care. It stayed for a breath and then began to leak away. He ran a hand through his hair and left it at the back of his neck the way a man does when he is bracing against a noise only he can hear.

Stronric took a plate with bread and meat and walked to him. He did not crouch or loom, he simply stood until Giles looked up, then held the plate out. "Eat," Stronric said. "It sits well. It will do more for you in the morning than it did last night."

Giles took the plate and stared at the food. He swallowed, then looked past Stronric as if he were weighing who would see him take it. He bit once and chewed. The tension in his jaw eased a finger's width. When he swallowed again, his eyes came back to Stronric.

"Zere is somezing wrong wiz me," he said. The words were quiet and plain. "I cannot keep my t'oughts where I put zem. I wake ready to speak sense, and zen it all slips."

Stronric stood still. He did not move to fix the words. He did not hurry them.

Giles went on. "I am angry in ways I do not recognize. It is as if someone presses a weapon into my 'and and says it is mine. I do not believe it is mine. I do not know 'ow to set it down, non?"

"Then you hand it to me a while," Stronric said. "We will set other work in your hands until the heat goes out of it."

Giles opened his mouth to say something else.

Kara's voice came from behind Stronric. "Giles."

She did not raise it. The sound was soft and smooth. She came to stand at Stronric's shoulder, close enough that he could have felt the edge of her sleeve if he had moved an inch. She did not touch Giles. She only set her attention on him as if measuring a cut.

"You have not eaten properly," she said. "Do that first. Speak after."

Stronric watched Giles's face lose the look it had worn a moment earlier. The relief closed. The jaw set. The eyes sharpened. Giles looked at Stronric with a thin smile that did not belong to the first words.

"I am fine," Giles said. "Merci for ze meat. After it I will be better."

Stronric held his gaze for three heartbeats and then nodded. He stepped back one pace and let the space belong to them. He did not miss the way Kara's eyes softened when Giles turned to her. He did not miss the way her softness sat like a lid.

He returned to the ring and set the iron axe across his knees. Rugiel met his eyes, and hers asked questions she dared not speak aloud. Instead, she turned back to her plate and watched her brother. Bauru finished the fish and laid them on a leaf with salt. Dane drank the last of his tea and set the cup down where a man would not kick it when he stood. He then stood making his way to Serene, waking her softly. She rubbed her eyes, looking around the clearing as if waking from a dream that had held her comfortably outside of the dungeon they were still in.

Serene rose and made her way to the fire and smiled at the dwarfs, said a quiet thanks and ate. The color had returned to her face and her eyes shone brighter than they had in days. Her magic and body had been running on fumes compared to the Ice Witch resting with Giles. As the last of the food was eaten Stronric rose and took their attention with the simple act of standing. He pointed to the first bed, then to the parcels that still needed packing, then to the line of dried strips that needed a final turn.

"Eat what is left here," Stronric said. "Pack what is ready there. Wrap the plates by pairs. Sinew goes in the long pouch, not the small. We leave a mark on this rise that reads as a camp we kept clean. Then we step off, no stragglers."

He looked to Bauru. "Ye and the Canary take the point for Armand. Start from the place the roots turned us. Keep to signs that are true. If ye catch his trial, mark and hold the pace ahead. Do not pull back to us unless the ground lies. Three calls if ye meet trouble and we will drive to ye. If there is no trouble, two calls at the quarter mark and the half as we move."

Bauru nodded and checked his crossbow for the second time. "Aye. I'll take her wing. She kens the lay, right enough."

Stronric looked to Dane. "Ye keep the moving circle while they range. Lanes open left and right on my say. Keep the rabbit at the near edge. Serene, walk his pocket if ye please."

Dane grinned without teeth. "I can do that."

Rugiel rose and set her hand to Stronric's forearm for a moment. It was not a hold. It was to see if he was real. He rested his hand on hers once and then let go.

Bauru gave a low whistle. The Mountain Canary dropped from its perch and came to ground beside him. It moved more like a hunter than a bird. A long tail balanced behind it. Banded pinions folded against its flanks. Curved sickle claws touched the loam and lifted again with quiet care. A broad beak of slate hue tipped a narrow head, and a gold eye watched the line of trees without blinking.

Rugiel's attention followed it and then returned to Stronric. "Tell me, if you please," she said, calm and courtly. "What creature is this ally we have taken to our company? I have not read of her like."

Bauru tipped his chin toward the raptor. "Aye, what is she, then. I've no book name for her."

Stronric scratched at his beard. "I will tell ye later," he said. "The tale is long, and the morning is not."

Rugiel inclined her head. "Very well. Then one question more, what is her name?"

Stronric rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the gold eye. "Hnh. I have not named her."

Bauru chuckled. "Right enough. We'll be needin' a name, or I'll end up shoutin' bird like a daft man."

Rugiel's mouth curved. "We shall remedy that upon your return. Go with care."

"Aye," Bauru said. He set off at an easy trot with the Canary pacing light beside him, the company already falling in behind. Bauru held thirty paces forward on the thread of sign. Stronric walked a pace right, reading his hand. Dane and Serene held the ring tight. Rugiel minded the load. The rabbit kept the air honest.

Stronric checked the pouch one more time as they left the rise. The fullness pressed against his hand when he set the last two parcels in place. He shifted the arrangement until the pressure balanced. He closed the mouth of the bag and buckled the flap. He lifted the iron axe. The weight sat where it had always sat. The crystal axe rested in the dark with the meat and the tools and the shard. The choice was not an argument. It was only work.

Stronric looked back once. The fires were drowned and scattered, the beds raked flat, the ash salted and covered. No scraps, no grease, no bright thread left to teach the wrong lessons. Then he faced forward. Boots put clean marks where panic had once become retreat, and the ring moved out under orders, quiet, ready, together.

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