The sixth day in the Stormcallers' territory began with silence.
Not the peaceful kind, it was the kind that came after screaming had already been used up.
Stormcaller territory was… in ruin.
Their terraces were still there, but they looked broken now. Stone steps were cracked, rope lines had snapped and were tied back together with ugly, rushed knots, several shelters were simply gone, leaving black patches on the cliff face where fires had eaten wood and hide.
The screaming winds were still there, of course. None of the destruction below made the sky above any more merciful.
The Stormcallers moved, working together to fix the mess that was made, they pulled debris aside, carried the wounded down into the inner caves, dragged burned feather cloaks that no longer had their owners out of the snow, shaking ash off them with stiff hands.
This was what they had been ever since he came.
A man in the sky.
A man who controlled the very storm they prayed to.
