She gave him a small, genuine smile… one entirely free of the terror that had choked her earlier. "But Zeyra's right. Mother and the High Shaman will be waiting to discuss the morning march."
Sol nodded, slowly releasing them both as he stood up. Water cascaded off his muscular, bronze torso, sparkling in the night air as he stepped out of the shallow stream onto the flat mossy ledge.
He reached down, picking up his linen tunic and pulling it over his head, followed by his trousers.
He picked the dented, heavy black armor lying in a pile by the rock, slinging the leather scabbard of the Dreadwing blade over his back before turning toward the two women.
"Let's go," Sol said smoothly.
The walk back to the central encampment was quiet and serene.
