WINTER

Tol'chuk sat before the fire at his family's hearth. Dawn was a short way off; the others were still rolled into blankets around the floor.

He gazed into the flames, content with these quiet moments before the true day started. Across the cavern, a calm silence filled the space. No shouts, no challenges, no demands on his time.

But that would change as soon as the sun rose. As the new spiritual leader of the tribes, the clans were his responsibility. It was a weight as heavy as the stone in his thigh pouch. His fingers settled to the goatskin satchel.

The Heart remained corrupted, transformed into ebon'stone by the blood of the ill'guard Vira'ni. He feared bringing the stone near the Spirit Gate in the core of the mountain, lest its corruption spread into the heart-stone arch. Thus he dared not open the Gate and consult Sisa'kofa for guidance. Days passed, while the last words of Sisa'kofa still echoed in his chest: The Spirit Gate must be protected' You must be this guardian.

But what was he to do from here? He had united the clans, rooted out the treachery of the Ku'ukla. But the tribes grew impatient. Og'res were not known for their cooperation nor for their easy temperament. Skirmishes broke out daily among the gathered og'res.

Some direction was needed, and all eyes turned to him. But what was he to do? Where did they go from here?

The sound of running feet drew his attention to Mogweed. The shape-shifter raced across the cavern toward the hearth. He had taken to nighttime sojourns, getting braver each evening, venturing farther from the warmth of the hearth.