The fires burned lower as the night deepened over the valley of the Painted Dogs.
Most of the warriors had finished eating, and the wild energy of the returning raid had settled into quieter circles around the fires. Men spoke in low voices now, passing skins of drink between them while they told stories of the fight on the road. Laughter rose now and then, but it carried less edge than before. The mountains had taken their share of the day's strength, and even victory could not keep tired men loud forever.
Torren sat on a flat stone near the edge of the clearing, watching the flames.
Across the camp, the Andal prisoner remained tied to the wooden post. Two warriors still guarded him, their spears resting against their shoulders as they spoke quietly to each other. Edwyn Redfort sat stiffly against the rope that bound him, his face lit by the firelight. His eyes moved constantly, studying the warriors, the shelters, the valley itself.
He was learning.
He is observing escape paths, the calm voice inside Torren's mind said.
Torren tilted his head slightly.
He's tied to a post.
Captives often plan before opportunity exists.
Torren almost smiled.
The knight was brave, at least.
Footsteps approached behind him.
Heavy ones.
Torren didn't turn immediately.
He already knew who it was.
"Da," he said quietly.
Harrag stopped beside him.
His father's presence was unmistakable even in silence. Harrag smelled of smoke, leather, and the faint iron scent of dried blood. The cut on his cheek had already begun to stiffen, though it would leave a thin scar by morning.
"You sit alone," Harrag said.
Torren shrugged.
"I watch."
Harrag followed his gaze toward the prisoner.
"You spoke with him."
It was not a question.
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
Harrag looked down at him briefly.
"You know more of the lowland tongue than I thought."
Torren picked at a piece of frost-hardened dirt with his boot.
"A few words."
Harrag grunted.
"Enough to know if a man lies?"
Torren hesitated.
"Maybe."
Harrag seemed amused by that.
"What did he say?"
Torren looked toward the post again.
"He said he rode to Gulltown."
Harrag snorted.
"Liar."
Torren nodded.
"I thought so."
Harrag shifted his weight and stared toward the dark slopes beyond the camp.
"We took him on the road," he said slowly. "Not in Redfort lands. He rode north with two guards. Looking for something."
"Raiders."
"Probably."
Torren was quiet for a moment.
Then he asked the question that had been waiting in his mind since the raid.
"Why keep him alive?"
Harrag glanced down.
"Silver."
Torren waited.
"Men like him have fathers," Harrag continued. "Fathers who own land. Land that holds coin."
Torren nodded slowly.
"Ransom."
Harrag raised an eyebrow.
"You know that word."
"Some."
They stood together in silence for a while.
The wind moved gently through the trees above them, carrying the faint crackle of the fires and the smell of roasted meat.
Then Harrag spoke again.
"Cale told me about the Black Ears."
Torren nodded.
"I saw them from the ridge."
"You climb high."
"Yes."
Harrag looked toward the dark mountains above the valley.
"That ridge shows much."
Torren followed his gaze.
High above the valley, a faint shape moved through the starlit sky.
The golden eagle.
Torren felt the familiar pull deep inside him.
You feel the connection, the voice said quietly.
Torren kept his face still.
Yes.
Harrag stretched his shoulders and turned back toward the camp.
"You should sleep," he said.
Torren nodded.
They walked together toward the shelters.
---
The Painted Dogs slept beneath hides and furs stretched over low wooden frames. The shelter Torren shared with his father stood near the outer edge of the camp, where the ground rose slightly toward the mountain slopes.
Inside, the air smelled of leather, smoke, and cold stone.
Harrag sat heavily on the pile of furs and began removing the straps from his boots.
Torren lay down beside him, staring up at the dark shape of the shelter roof.
For a while neither spoke.
Outside, the campfires crackled quietly.
Inside Torren's mind, the voice waited.
Finally Torren spoke silently.
Should I tell him?
There was a pause.
Clarify.
About the eagle.
Another pause.
Risk assessment required.
Torren frowned slightly in the darkness.
He is my father.
Information exposure may create consequences.
Torren considered that.
He would be proud.
The voice remained silent for a moment longer.
Possible.
Torren lay quietly, listening to Harrag's steady breathing beside him.
His father was not asleep yet.
Torren knew the rhythm.
He hesitated.
Then he spoke.
"Da."
Harrag shifted slightly.
"What."
Torren stared into the darkness.
"I saw the eagle tonight."
"That happens," Harrag said sleepily. "They hunt above the valley."
Torren shook his head.
"No."
Harrag was quiet now.
Torren swallowed.
"I saw… through it."
Silence filled the shelter.
Harrag turned his head slowly.
"What."
Torren forced himself to continue.
"I was on the ridge before you came," he said quietly. "I looked at the eagle."
His voice dropped even lower.
"Then I was flying."
Harrag did not move.
The silence stretched.
Torren began to wonder if he had made a mistake.
Then Harrag spoke.
"You dreamed."
Torren shook his head.
"No."
Harrag pushed himself upright slightly.
Torren could feel his father's eyes in the darkness.
"You are saying," Harrag said slowly, "that you were inside the eagle."
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
Another long silence followed.
Outside, the wind moved through the mountains.
Finally Harrag spoke again.
"Did anyone else see this?"
Torren shook his head quickly.
"No."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"No."
Harrag exhaled slowly.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"Do not tell anyone."
Torren blinked.
"Why?"
"Because men fear what they do not understand."
Torren lay still.
"You believe me?"
Harrag was silent for a moment.
Then he reached over and gripped Torren's shoulder firmly.
"If you lie," he said quietly, "you are a fool."
Torren held his gaze in the darkness.
"I do not lie."
Another long moment passed.
Then Harrag released him.
"Then you must learn to keep this quiet."
Torren frowned.
"Why?"
Harrag lay back down on the furs.
"Because boys who see through beasts are not always welcomed by men."
Torren stared into the darkness.
Inside his mind, the calm voice spoke once more.
Your father's risk assessment aligns with optimal strategy.
Torren ignored it.
He was thinking about something else.
His father believed him.
Outside the shelter, high above the valley, the golden eagle drifted silently across the night sky.