Vash receives the offering

“Kraaia!”
The stones chimed, the wall behind Osh burst into light, and Vash was briefly deaf and blind.

“Kraaia!”
The stones chimed, the wall behind Osh burst into light, and Vash was briefly deaf and blind.

There were men outside — at least two.
Ffraid ducked beneath the height of the window before they could have seen more than a flash of flaming hair.

There were girls inside — at least two — but nowhere in their panicked gabbling was the low voice that Osh’s ears had strained all night to hear.

Kuntigern hurriedly blew a cloud of fine dark dust from the surface of the plate he was polishing and buffed a small patch clean with the heel of his hand. He leaned in close and was startled by the grotesque apparition of his own black eye leering up at him.

The men made of dismounting a monumental undertaking that had little to do with the simple act of getting down from the back of a horse. There were hands to be rubbed together, boots to be stomped, balls to be shifted, backs to be stretched. There were girths to tighten, packs to open and close, and flasks to be shaken upside down for last drops.

“Malo!” Lady Gwynn panted as she shuffled to a skidding stop. “Thank heaven you’re still here!”

Osh stopped just short of the cottage and lifted his hands to halt Vash and Shosudin behind him.
“Stand clear if you value your noses,” he warned.

“Brede! What are you doing?” Estrid panted.
“What does it look like?” he groaned.
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