Yig swung open the front door, with Sil and Blū following close behind, each carrying the escapee by an arm as they helped him into the temple. She guided them into the dining room, where Silver and Nil had been chatting leisurely.

  “What in the world!?” Silver blurted, standing up instinctively.

  They lowered the man into a chair, and Blū fetched a pail of water while Yig walked over to Silver with a bright smile, holding up a bag.

  “We got your ingredients,” she said, expecting praise—but clearly, Silver was focused on something else.

  Blū placed a glass of water in front of the man. But instead of drinking it, he just sat there, breathing heavily and painfully.

  “You know, it’s starting to get crowded around here, Blū!” Silver snapped. “Did you stop to consider that maybe we’re running out of room?”

  “He can take my bed,” Yig offered earnestly.

  “Who said anything about him sleeping here?”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” Blū said, doing his best to stay composed. “But I think we had good reason to take him in.”

  “Please, enlighten me.”

  “We think… he was exposed to a servant of The Storm.”

  Silver’s face held firm for a moment, then gradually softened into something less harsh—though still wary. He looked at the man Blū had brought home, who now sipped at the water with wide, stunned eyes, his body rocking in the chair. Silver sighed in an effort to calm himself and sank back into his seat. “Alright then. What do you suppose we do?”

  “Talk to him?” Blū suggested.

  “Sorry, friend,” Nil said, joining in. “He doesn’t look like he’s in a talking mood.”

  Blū glanced at the man, with Sil beside him wearing an expression of agreement—a sentiment Yig seemed to share.

  “What were you doing a mile high in the sky, Blū?” Oy called out humorously as he walked in, only to pause as he took in the scene. His tone shifted. “What the—?”

  “Don’t start,” Silver cut him off. “‘We don’t know’ will be the answer. Okay?”

  Oy stood silent for a moment, then seemed to ease up. “Alright.” He took a seat.

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  “Silver, calm down,” Nil said softly.

  The master looked briefly stunned—almost offended. For a few seconds, they stared each other down, tension thick in the room. But then, seemingly from nowhere, Silver sat back down, his demeanor softening—if only slightly.

  “I’m still not used to no longer being your master,” Silver said with a light chuckle.

  “I’m not long used to it myself,” Nil replied.

  The room settled, everyone quiet—except for the man, who continued to rock back and forth, gripped by terror.

  “He won’t talk to us tonight,” Silver sighed. “Nor should we press him. Everyone head to bed—we’ll reconvene in the morning.”

  Most of them seemed hesitant, but within moments, each had mumbled an agreement and wandered out of the room. Yig set the bag of vegetables aside, smiling at the Master before leaving with a lamb under his arm.

  “Boy, will you give that thing a bath? It reeks,” Silver ordered, glancing at Spartan.

  Yig nodded and skipped up the steps, the sound of his footsteps gradually fading through the halls.

  “What the—?” Blū heard Silver exclaim as he left the room. “Boy, you bought ten different ingredients, and only one is a radish!”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Blū fanned out his spare blankets and laid down some pillows, forming a makeshift bed on the floor between his and Oy’s. Their room was like any of the others—gray stone walls, a gray stone ceiling—but the two had once installed a wooden floor over a weekend, and somehow it had held together ever since. Blū couldn’t quite put into words how fondly he remembered those two days. Of course, they were close—they slept in the same room—but that project had made them feel especially connected. Even though it had been their own idea, it still felt like part of Silver’s plan to bond them. Why else would he have made them sleep beside each other when there were plenty of spare rooms?

  Yig waddled in, a damp Spartan wrapped in towels in his arms. He strolled to his half-made bed and flopped onto his back, leaving Blū with the final pillow, which he tossed toward their blond guest.

  “It won’t relieve itself in here, will it?” Oy asked.

  After pulling the pillow off his face, Yig cradled Spartan close, their eyes locked. “She never has before.” The sheep looked back at him, chewing on something Blū couldn’t quite identify.

  Blū fluffed his bedding, then collapsed into it and pulled the covers over himself. In that moment—after a full day of training and the particularly strange string of events that evening—he could finally relax. The pain from his various wounds—whether scraped hands or a blow to the face from Yig—only now caught up with him. But even that paled in comparison to the tension draining from his body as he sank into bed.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  He rubbed at his infant eyes, unfolding his cocoon of blankets to look up at his mother while resting in her arms. Specks of sand stung his eyes, but it was worth the pain just to glimpse her face. And even though she looked so frail—almost ghostly from days of constant walking—she still managed to smile at him.

  His thirst was nearly unbearable, but he was too exhausted to cry any longer. He thought maybe they would find Father again, and that he could help, though he couldn’t even remember what his father looked like. He couldn’t recall the demonic faces of the beasts they'd left his father with, but he remembered the fear he felt when he stared into one of their eyes.

  He opened his mouth to whine, but couldn’t even lick his lips. Then his world jolted—a massive impact that swayed his very mind—but he didn’t worry. He knew he could trust his mother’s arms. He knew she would hold him tight, as she had for what felt like forever. Distant cries of adults reached his ears, and he realized his mother had fallen to her knees. As he focused on her face, he saw the life drain from her eyes.

  thank you. It's a great feeling to know that people are reading this story which I've been working so hard on for years.