The words rippled through the panicked crowds, seeping into every corner. The warriors paused, lowering their spears in confusion and relief.
The shouting died down into urgent, hushed murmurs. Reluctantly, the clan began to organize, pulling back from the palisades and drifting anxiously toward the central square, waiting for the first light of morning to bring answers.
Inside his wooden quarters, Sol kicked the door shut.
A large stone basin of cool river water sat in the corner. Sol ripped the dried fern leaf from his hip and tossed it aside into the hearth. He walked over to the washbasin, grabbed a bucket and dumped it straight over his head.
The freezing water shocked his skin, washing away the remaining beast grease and dirt down his broad torso, pooling onto the stone drainage trough below. He grabbed a rough hemp rag, aggressively scrubbing down his forearms, ribs, and neck until the skin burned pink and clean.
