Since the last major offensive, the teams had set up several different phase lines and fallback points to allow any future charges or attacks sent out by the Ursana to be reacted to with bounding controlled retreats, as opposed to a mad scramble with blades at your heels like the first.

　　 At least Samuel had provided one of the team`s cover for that step in the plan. Along with intelligence on the Ursana forces and movements. Although the news given was not encouraging. If anything, it was worse than Shama could have ever imagined.

　　 Legions of cataphracts, bowmen, auxiliaries, and other forces were nestled high in the verdant pines, just out of sight of the outpost. While the Ursana`s initial tactics were barbaric and rudimentary, their leaders were not stupid; they were well-experienced warriors at the end of the day. They knew the GU forces were contained within the outpost and had concealed their forces accordingly. They just had no way of knowing Samuel was up on the higher ridges, providing regular intelligence updates.

　　For an old man who said he was not a soldier, Samuel certainly was proving himself to have the right stuff for the job. Shama might offer the Human a tentative role in the platoon for a short stint or two—provided they survive this ordeal.

　　Samuel`s judgment of the Ursana likely attempting to besiege the outpost was wise. It would be an almost assured victory for Mother and her savage ilk, with the effort likely only costing little more than a few platoons of auxiliaries, slaves, and a few lieutenants. As efficient as Shama`s men had been so far, with the numbers Mother had at her disposal, the first battle and few probing skirmishes since then meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Even if they only slammed t-box shots from then on, they would be black on ammo long before denting the enemy`s numbers.

　　Shifting upward in a seat he commandeered from the inside and brought to the first row of barricades, Shama looked out over the 200-meter no man`s land between the treeline and the battlements. Frozen bodies covered every meter, halfway buried in fresh powder, along with arrows from the last skirmish.

　　The Ursana had apparently decided that lobbed-range attacks from within the pines were better than being cut down in job lots. Not that Shama could blame them for the change; The tactic was solid but inefficient since they were essentially using indirect fire. Not one of the troopers had been hit by an arrow yet, but the outpost and battlefield were bristling with near misses.

　　The heavy greenish blue of his NVGs made every detail of the massacre painfully visible; each face contorted in pain, severed limb, and glinting weapon were as clear as day. That and the shifting shadow of a Ursana scout, watching the outpost from their observation point nestled in the bushes.

　　The scout likely thought they were invisible in the dreary starlight and green luminance from the planet above. They would be if their enemies were their fellow low-tech warriors, but they were fighting the GU, and their technological edge made the scout`s attempts at stealth a moot point.

　　The vast difference in capability and effectiveness was made all the more evident by the pair of shadows slinking through the snow toward the back of the scout, suppressed handguns raised and white cloaks draped over their shoulders, concealing black uniforms, rucksacks, and long rifles.

　　Most civilians tended to think black was the ultimate night camouflage, but that was just a misconception created by movies and video games. In reality, when it was dark enough for jet black to conceal, what you wore did not matter—you could be naked, and it would have the same effect.

　　Vintor and Urtrel quickly and silently dispatched the Ursana scout with a shot to the back of the head. Killing her was a good sign; they must have captured and interrogated a Ursana soldier while looking for Mother and setting up some surprise gifts for the Ursana throughout their camps.

　　After a quick call and countersign with IR lights to keep the Ursana none the wiser of their command and signal, the two troopers flowed across no man`s land like a pair of silent specters, keeping their heads on a swivel and being cautious to not disturb any of the bodies while movings—not that any more Ursana lookouts were visible from what Shama could see.

　　"Urtrel, go back to your team. I will brief Cap and get the show started," Vintor instructed subvocally, like the well-experienced sniper and scout he was.

　　 Urtrel grunted and lumbered off to his place on the line. He was a good trooper but was far less talkative than the rest of the team. That was why he had gone with Vintor on his austere mission; both had to focus on the mission and not want to get stuck in a fight and be nearly silent throughout the operation.

　　"How did it all go?" Shama questioned as Vintor settled into the snow, not needing a chair like the far older and worn down Captain.

　　"Pretty shit, Jushla. The mook we nabbed up couldn`t tell us much that Samuel had not already relayed. Other than how they plan on bringing some Hurot Chosen down to raid us. I have no timeframe, but likely it will be a good old zero-dark-thirty raid," Vintor sighed after tossing his hood up, keeping the snow from running down his collar.

　　Jushla, the Captain`s first name. He and Vintor had some history together, far more than the rest of the platoon; both had been a part of L.O.S.T before this. While every platoon member was some form of special forces, they were the only two who staked claim to being a part of that coveted and cursed unit in the past. Because of that shared history, Vintor would always call the Captain his first name when alone—not that he couldn`t all the time; no one would dog him for it.

　　It was unsurprising that the Ursana would raid them late at night. It was a tried and true tactic. But getting to see what the Hurots chosen were capable of was something Shama did not look forward to seeing, especially after reviewing the footage of Scarletra when she was in a combat trance.

　　The gentle and kind woman he had spoken to for several hours today ripped through armor and soldiers like they did not exist. The thought of going against forces that savage was concerning. Could they hold off a wave of them and keep everyone alive?

　　"Great, well, we will wake everyone up shortly. What about the gifts and search for Mother?" Shama asked, cracking his neck.

　　"Mother is a ghost. I could not find hide nor hair of her, likely she is higher in the mountains, defended in the heavier encampments. As for our gifts, here you go," Vintor handed a wireless detonator over to Shama. "All of the IEDs are next to sleeping troops or near their beasts of burden. We did manage to slip the incendiaries into what we think were food wagons."

　　That was a mixed bag of news. Shama doubted killing Mother would have done anything to destroy the Ursana`s morale. But that wasn`t why the sniper team was lurking in the shadows of the Ursana anyway; Vintor was supposed to kidnap her. But that did not work out, and that was frustrating. Having her as a prisoner might have been something they could have leveraged against the daughters to call off the siege and give up on Scarletra.

　　"Alright, go get the rest of the team ready. We are bumping back up to everyone online, just in case they still run the raid after we blow a good chunk of them to high heaven," Shama instructed.

　　—--

　　Shortly later, the entire platoon was back to the barricades and ready to get the show started. Several more tools had been added to the team`s arsenal since their last skirmish with the Ursanas probing raids—thanks to a generation donation from Samuel and Scarletra and the team`s efforts to quickly fabricate them.

　　At Kellul`s insistence, every one of the soldiers under their command had picked up one of the Ursana weapons and roughly stuck them through their belts: axes, swords, and hammers primarily, but one or two had donned a buckler and dagger.

　　 None of the troopers were exactly proficient with traditional weapons, save for Bracul, who likely was just as if not more comfortable with a sword or ax as he was with a rifle. But having them would at least grant them a bit of standoff in a melee compared to the small fixed blades on their plate carriers.

　　Additionally laid out in front of each team member`s positions were several electronically-timed pipe bombs crafted out of lead pipes and scavenged electrical components from unnecessary items around the outpost. Thankfully, this place was as well stocked as it was, so plenty could be used. And none of the team had issues with Grunts-and-Crafts during downtime.

　　Vintor was atop the outpost, managing the buried explosive charges set up every twenty-five meters across no man`s land. The teams who were set up to watch the flanks handled their own rows of explosives for when the riverbeds and defilade on the flanks fell under assault.

　　Shama had no idea what trooper had taken the flamethrower but knew it had been snatched up by someone. Samuel`s shotgun, however, was attached to his hip. He had cut the barrel down from 71 centimeters to 35, as close to the magazine tube as the saw could allow.

　　While it wasn`t an actual breaching weapon, that wasn`t the point. It was filling a middle-ground role. The buckshot and short build made it handy and heavy-hitting, especially between barricades, where the range was only about twenty meters.

　　They were as prepared as possible; once they set off the explosives tactically planted inside the Ursana camps, the hornet`s nest would be firmly kicked; what happened at that point was anyone`s guess—but the platoon were all expecting the proud warriors of the Ursana to deem the team as cowards that they should rightfully cut down and charge.

　　None of them would have to wait any longer to know the answer. Shama tightly clutched the clacker in a gloved hand and looked up and down the line, receiving nods from the team leaders. He flicked the safety bar off and actuated the clacker three times, just as his training had taught him.

　　For a brief moment, there was silence. It was just long enough for Shama to wonder if the charges were duds; that seemed unlikely because dozens of them had been set up, each with triple backup detonators.

　　Then it happened. The explosions of ten-kilogram IEDs ripped across the valley, trees shuddering under the power of modern explosives, changing the Ursana`s understanding of war forever. No matter where they were and how safe they felt, even though Shama could not see them, they were well within his team`s reach.

　　Through the trees, the luminance of the fires grew in intensity, making the concealed camp locations visible even from the outpost. As soon as the echoes of the bombs passed, the screams began, horrendous, horrified, and confused. It was a shame that they could not see the tribe through the trees; based on the volume and the frantic shouts, they must be in utter pandemonium.

　　The team did not have to wait long for their question of how the Ursana would react. Kicking the hornet`s nest had moved Hurot`s chosen timeline up from zero-dark-thirty to right now. Through the caterwauling auxiliaries and other frantic troops, a low, steady, droning roar rose in challenge and grew for the next minute.

　　It was odd; they were not yelling any words. It was just screaming, unbridled, raw, primal, and oozing with rage that you could feel in the deepest recess of your instincts. They were coming.

　　Like an avalanche was rolling beneath the bows, the trees cracked, shuddered, and cried. Hurot`s chosen barreled through the trees toward no man`s land and into the waiting soldiers` fields of fire. Safeties clicked off, and IR lasers danced around the trees, waiting for targets to appear.

　　 With teeth and claw-bared, a dozen of Hurot`s chosen burst through the treeline on all fours, snarling and snapping their teeth like wild animals. They bound over bodies, knee-deep snow, and each other like none existed. They would not be deterred. That they were only two meters tall instead of the three that Scarletra was did not make Shama feel any better about this engagement.

　　They looked like true savages. His understanding that they genuinely did not know what they were doing made him feel no better. If anything, it made him feel an odd sense of guilt. At least the scouts, warriors, cataphracts, and dragoons they had slain so far were cognisant of their choices. These women were just in a mindless drug-induced fury. But they were good targets, and that was all that genuinely mattered.

　　The platoon opened up with a cacophony of gunfire. Zip`s tracers struggled to track the low-to-the-ground enemies; their twisting and bending motions and preternatural speed made it seem like their bullets were traveling right through them. Shama hoped it was just a matter of that they were missing and not that Hurot`s chosen were so cranked up in a rage they felt no pain. But they could only lay more hate and hope for the best.

　　"Fag out!" One of the troopers tossed a pipe bomb out toward the charging beasts, landing with a soft thump in the snow. The bomb exploded with a loud, hateful boom, tossing snow, meat, and dirt up, concealing the charging horde for a moment.

　　"Hold off on that. We can`t see shit with the dust-up," Shama shouted. "Stick to regular weapons." Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

　　Before a response came, or the dust had settled, the Ursana that took the brunt of the explosion burst forth from the cloud with one arm missing and jaw hanging slack, barely held on by loose skin. That amount of damage was telling about the Chosen`s state of mind. They were not just durable; they were rage-given flesh.

　　Without needing any extra instruction, the teams on this side of the outpost began to attempt to hit the charging berserkers in the head, knowing nerve kills would be the only thing that put an end to their rampage. Shama`s troopers were smart like that and absorbed the battlefield`s information like a sponge.

　　But the enemy was just far too nimble and aggressive. Before even half of the original dozen had been wounded, much less put in the dirt, they had crossed no man`s land and collided with the GU troopers.

　　Shama`s focus was drawn to one that leaped the meter-tall barricade himself, and Buric had taken cover behind. The heavily muscled beast slammed into Buric and tumbled into the snow several meters behind the barricade, knocking the man`s C-7 from his grip. Without missing a beat, the snarling, slobbering, enraged woman sunk her teeth into his shoulder and bit a massive chunk out of him.

　　 As Shama let his C-7 fall to his sling and swung the twelve gauge off his hip, Buric continued to fight even as the woman ate him alive; he drove his knife in and out of her stomach like a machine, blood pouring out and soaking his uniform, while the berserk brown furred Varintol bit into his upper arm and snapped the bone in half, swallowing his bicep bone and all.

　　Shame muzzle thumped the Varintol in the temple and pulled the trigger. The far side of her head erupted as the eight double-aught buckshot pellets turned her brain to mush, with her collapsing atop his dying teammate.

　　 At least, like everything else, Hurots chosen seem to still die once their head is gone.

　　"Doc, we got wounded over here!" Shama shouted, pivoting outboard to ensure no more of Hurot`s chosen were advancing on him. To his dismay, another one was about to leap over the barricades, tossing snow in her wake.

　　His first shot went out before she lept, peppering her shoulders and chest with buckshot. The second was by the time they were in mid-air. Unlike the first, it was not a solid impact because Shama was backstepping the shotgun load skidded along her fatty stomach, ripping it open.

　　The attackers` guts poured out and trailed in the snow as she landed. She whipped around and swiped at Shama with dagger-like claws as if she had not just taken a fatal wound. The attack was fast but not fast enough. Shama drove the shotgun`s muzzle into her eye and blew the back of her head off.

　　 To his surprise, even with that amount of damage, the Varintol tried to crawl forward and attack him, biting, growling, and screaming for his blood in the name of Hurot. But that effort did not last long. Only a heartbeat later, all semblance of life faded from her vibrant orange eyes, and her body fell limp, blood soaking the snow.

　　"Sir, if you are done with that, get back to the line. We got more incoming," Meralu shouted before letting a burst of the zip fire off. Not even giving Shama a moment to breathe. That was not a good sign of how this combat tempo would go.

　　Shifting his attention between his bleeding teammate and trees, Shama had to make a call he did not like. Buric was likely not going to make it, having already stopped moving-but that did not mean he was dead. But on the other hand, a platoon of bowmen and a squad of cataphracts had arrived just outside the treeline. If he did not press the fight, everyone here would die, not just Buric.

　　To his dismay, Shama switched back to his C-7 and propped himself against the barricades. Praying Doc reached Buric quickly, but heaven knows how many of the screams he heard from the platoon were from others in a similar situation—for all he knew, Doc was already dead.

　　 Just as he settled against cover, the squads on the periphery began to open up on the Ursana. Machine guns, rifles, grenade launchers, and the earth-shaking explosions of the flank phase line explosives joined the sounds of battle.

　　"Vic, if the cataphracts charge, use the first phase line; everyone else, start popping those bowmen," Shama bellowed, not even bothering to use his radio.

　　Aiming in and settling his laser on the front row of the bowman, Shama pulled the trigger, focusing on the fight at hand. He was worried about how many men went down against Hurot`s chosen—but he could not think about that. The battle for the outpost had just begun and likely would continue throughout the night.

　　—-

　　Scarletra nervously paced back and forth inside the main room and had been for the last few hours. Each minute that passed, her nerves were stretched further and further. She felt one wrong moment from snapping and lashing out at any sound.

　　Not out of anger or because Hurot whispered in her ear, but because a pair of the soldiers had told her Samuel would call her, check-in and let her know everything would be alright. But that was hours ago, and he had yet to reach out. Since then, with the soldiers occasionally shooting at Ursana skirmishers, it was like a noose was around her heart.

　　Scarletra would reach out herself, but Shama had her datapad and was using it to communicate with Samuel to know what Mother and her sister`s troops were doing.

　　All this time, idle with nothing to do gradually drove her insane. Any errant thought, nightmare, or fear gripped her mind tightly until another reared its ugly head. Had the Ursana attacked and killed him? Was he out there wounded and alone? Did one of her sisters grab him and drag him to slavery?

　　All of those thoughts drove her to further compounding nightmares. She Imagined her sisters fileting Samuel, torturing him for information, or, if they felt inclined, claiming him as their newest toy to use for pleasure until he broke, becoming little more than a mindless slave they would pass around for enjoyment while on a campaign.

　　If Scarletra learned any of that happened. The GU be damned; she would rip through all of the Ursana and tear her mother and sisters hearts out. Knowing all too well that would be a death sentence—Hurot`s rage or not, she was still mortal. No one would stop her, not even Shama and his men.

　　A part of her was tempted to grab a case of beer and down it just to try to put herself at ease, but she knew that was a horrible idea. If the Ursana breached the building, she would have to try to keep Sethun safe and fight the urges in her soul to let Hurot take over. If she was drunk in any way, that would be impossible.

　　"Scarletra, please have a seat," Sethun gestured to the broken sofa.

　　That same attempt at being gently commanding and collected she had seen him give when they first met was evident. Although his attempts to maintain it were clearly wearing on the man. It was a front, and she knew it.

　　Scarletra shot him a side-eye glower. She probably glared too much there because the puny man`s spine shot straight, and he fidgeted nervously under her gaze.

　　Sethun is a strange man. She had no idea what species he was, nor did she care. He had gray skin, a gaunt frame, and eyes that were solid black. From beneath his cowl, flecks of black hair popped out.

　　The scent around him was also odd. It was artificial and somewhat reminded her of the oil Samuel used in the Varintluk and to lubricate his weapons. That a man like this smelled so appalling concerned her. Mainly because no other creature she had met had. It was unsettling and not natural.

　　 Unlike Samuel and the other males she had met from the GU, he acted far closer to the males from the Ursana tribe. Constantly looking around nervously and trying to fade into the background. Was he not meant to be a leader of some kind? Should he not be confident and in charge like Samuel or Shama?

　　Scareltra knew very little about him, though. Since he arrived, he has failed to broker a deal with Mother, retreated inside, and ate the food Scarletra had prepared for the troopers and him. Besides that, he was always on his datapad and reading, likely trying to ignore the reality of the army knocking at their door and baying for their blood.

　　Why on Baratin did he not take up arms? He was meant to be a leader. Sethune, at least if not fighting, should be supporting the warriors. But he had done nothing. Because of that, Scarletra essentially wrote him off the same way she would a useless cub.

　　"No, I would rather not," Scarletra replied, groping the butt of the ax stuck through her belt. "I need to be ready to protect you."

　　"Miss Ursana, please. We are in good hands with Shama and his men," Shethun insisted. "They can keep us safe."

　　Just as Sathun finished, a massive explosion rocked the area, causing the world to shake like lightning had just struck the outpost. Several of the shelves shook and started to collapse around them. Sethun cowered where he was; any semblance of his attempted bravado faded instantly. He tucked his head into his palms and brought his legs against himself, failing to notice the rack of tools falling towards him.

　　Scarletra lunged forward and shoved herself between the shelf and Sethun, shielding the small man with her bulk. With a massive clattering sound, dozens of tools fell to the ground around him. Scarletra grunted and bit her inner lip, stifling a scream when several of the tools stabbed into her back and shoulder.

　　Shoving the shelving unit back and letting it clatter away, uncaring of where it landed other than not crushing Sethun, her attention fully turned toward him. "Are you alright?"

　　"I-I-I am, thank you," Sethun sputtered.

　　"Good," Scarletra said, standing up and rubbing an arm over her back and shoulders, pushing whatever stabbed her out of her skin, feeling them tug for a moment before popping out, letting the metal tool clatter to the floor and blood ooze from the fresh punctures.

　　"Scarletra, are you alright," Sethun questioned, seeing the bloody items on the ground.

　　"I will be fine. I was a Ursana Warrior for years; those little stabs are nothing," Scarletra replied, righting one of the shelves.

　　"Are you certain?" Sethun said, sounding pleading.

　　Scarletra rolled her eyes, with her back to him. Sethun should take her word for what it was; Samuel usually did that. But then again, Samuel could read her like a book. She could not lie to him even if she wanted to; That and if he saw her even with these minor injuries, he would treat her like a little cub, forcing her to be treated.

　　Great Mother, why was he too cute to say no to?

　　"Yes, I am," Scarletra said flatly.

　　Just as Scarletra was about to go over to the next shelf, the door outside opened, the sounds of the fight outside growing in volume. Doc Stulit was dragging in one of the injured troopers by their body armor.

　　"Scarletra, come here and give me a hand," Stulit asked, looking back at her, his face and uniform bathed in blood.

　　Finally, something she could do other than sit here idle, other than waiting for Samuel to arrive and take them to Moi. She rushed over to the medic and grabbed the trooper`s armor, helping Stulit drag him towards the center of the room, leaning his back against the table so the passed-out trooper was seated.

　　"What happened?" Sethun said somewhat frantically, gesturing at the soldier`s missing arm with a tourniquet tightly lashed to it, clearly not used to carnage.

　　"Hurot`s chosen grabbed hold of him and ripped his arm off," the medic said flatly, not even looking up at Sethun. He just continued to remove magazines from the man`s armor and assessed him with slow-eye glances.

　　That one of the chosen got a grip on the trooper and survived was a shock to Scarletra. It was over if she grabbed you in any fight she was involved in. She would rip limbs off, eat the enemy, or gut them alive, giving no quarter—-other than Samuel, that is. He managed by some miracle to survive.

　　"Is there anything I can do to help?" Scarletra asked, wanting to be of more use than just dragging a passed-out man.

　　Stulit looked up at her and shrugged. His demeanor was calm and collected. Even his eyes were as icy as the winds. Scareltra had seen that look on many of the doctors in war camps. This man was used to seeing critical injuries, and this event was part and parcel to him.

　　"Sure, I have others I need to get in here," Stulit replied, removing a pouch from his vest and handing it to her. "Apply the bandages in there to his wounds."

　　"I will do my best," Scarletra replied.

　　"Good." he nodded before looking to the representative. "Sethun, grab any magazines and ammo from his kit and stack them on the table. He won`t need it. I can distribute it once everyone injured is inside," Stulit instructed while turning about and rushing out the door.

　　Sethun took a step forward but paused, earning him a basalisk glare from Scarletra. A venomous judgment she had not used in years. But this man needed a strong leader; she was the only one there and would be that matriarch. "Come on, help at least a little."

　　"I—Uhhh," Sethun started but was stopped by Scarletra.

　　"Sir, they are dying out there to help us. This is the least you can do," Scareltra growled.

　　Sethun stared at her momentarily but trepidly stepped forward, his hands shaking, while removing unused magazines from the trooper`s armor.

　　His action, as simple as it was, earned him a warm smile from her. At least he was doing something to help, as was she. Neither was just being dead weight anymore.

　　This was not how Scarletra planned on helping the fight, but it was not bad. Tending the wounded at least gave her idle mind something to focus on instead of wondering where Samuel was. Opening the small pouch, Scareltra slowly but surely wrapped the man`s wound in bandaging to prevent infection. All was going well until she touched the bone protruding from the nub.

　　The soldier screamed in agony and lurched forward, gripping at the injury. Sethun backed away and went even more pale than usual. Scarletra, on the other hand, would not allow herself to be shocked. She reached forward and gently hugged the man.

　　"Hey, hey, it`s alright. You are safe now," Scareltra whispered, letting him thrash and scream as he pleased, uncaring of injuries she received or his panic.

　　After a brief time of him fighting her touch, the man stopped screaming and looked up at her, confused.

　　"It`s alright; you are safe," Scarletra gently reassured him.

　　 To her surprise, even though he had passed out moments before, he could respond and confirm he understood with a wide-eyed nod. She could not remember the man`s name, which was a shame, but that he willingly was injured to protect her was enough for her to give her all to him.

　　Shortly after the trooper`s arm was wrapped and he had calmed, Stulit returned with another injured trooper. The first of many throughout the night.

　　Treating the initial wounded took several hours; between more explosions, gunfire increasing in intensity, and needing to keep Sethun calm, her hands were full. Scarletra had never been trained to be a doctor but knew enough to apply bandages and stuff wounds for Stulit. Thankfully, that is all he wanted her to do.

　　Once all their injuries were no longer life-threatening and she had consoled the panicking troopers, she did her best to keep the wounded calm and comfortable, wrapping them in blankets, giving them tea, and talking gently with them.

　　The troopers were amazing people; despite grievous injuries, they seemed to be in good spirits and were talking with one another and with Scarletra. She only had to yell at them a few times when several tried to get up and return to fight once or twice. But her yelling, followed by a long hug and her telling them they did their best but should not die senselessly, kept their butts firmly planted where they were.

　　Scarletra was glad she could do this much for some of her saviors. She stayed up with them until the sun started to rise. Before Scarletra realized how much time had passed, Shama limped inside the room. One of his arms was bandaged, and a massive gash across his snout, with blood pouring out of it. Nearly no magazines were left in his plate carrier. He carried a bloody sword limply in his hand and had his rifle and shotgun slung.

　　She started to get up with her last medical supplies, assuming he was the next trooper to be treated, but he raised his hand to stop her.

　　"Get your stuff ready, and prepare them to move. Samuel is only a few minutes out," Shama said through ragged breaths, barely audible over an explosion outside.

　　Over the last few hours, Scarletra had nearly forgotten about Samuel; she had been so focused on the soldiers and Sethun. But just hearing his name slammed her with a wave of anxiety. And the questions from early accosted her mind. But she could not allow that to fog her mind right now.

　　"I will get them ready," Scareltra replied, praying to the Great Mother her warm fire was unhurt.