Wander West, in Shadow

The mood was dark as they set out once more.

True to their word, they kept Torc bound - though it might have seemed the sillest binding Kells ever saw, tying the man's one stump of an arm to his chest, leaving his legs free so he could walk, with a length of rope loose so that someone might lead him around. Martimeos - and Aela, for that matter - both opted to pretend as if Torc simply did not exist, as they traveled. Neither would so much as look in the man's direction, or even speak of him indirectly. It fell largely to Kells to hold the man's reins. Elyse might have done it; she at least would deign to acknowledge thte man's existence, and she worked her healing Art on him to keep the man's cough and fever down. But small as she was, Torc could have very well sent her reeling if he desired. Kells hardened his heart as he led the man around, bringing up the rear of the march. He might be a cripple with one arm and no hands, but, he reminded himself, he was a childkiller, and hardly helpless.

And he was right that Torc was clever. When they stopped to eat, they unbound the man, and that was when they discovered that Torc had fashioned himself a small wooden claw, roughly carved, during his travels. The man struggled to bind it to his arm with a length of thin hide, laying it flat on the ground and attempting to manipulate it with his teeth and his feet, until finally Kells had had enough. With a few swift movements, he tied it tightly to Torc's forearm. "Thank ye," the man said quietly, hushed so that Martim would not hear. "Tyin' et on es th' hardest part. Ah could never do et proper mahself. Kept fallin' off eventually." It was the first words Torc had spoken since they had left the cave.

"From where did you get it?" Kells asked, quiet himself as well. He wondered if Martimeos would hold it against him for talking to the man. He did not think so; the wizard hated Torc, but he was not that petty.

"Carved et mahself, en th' time after th' fight. Used mah teeth." Torc chomped his jawes together with a clack. "Splinters en mah tongue fer days after."

The claw was a poor replacement for a hand. It could not hold or grasp things. But it did give Torc the ability to poke or prod at things, and he could at least feed himself, if awkwardly and slowly, by stabbing it at his rations until they became stuck. Kells could not help but admire the man's ingenuity and perseverance. It was not the average man who might struggle to care for himself alone with no hands. Torc might have gone back to his wife after the fight, and lived his life as a cripple, being taken care of, but he seemed determined to do as much as he could on his own. That was the sort of man, Kells supposed, that would continue to fight in a war even with only one arm. It was really too bad that he had decided to use all that determinaiton and grit to be a killer.

Once they had begun to move on once more, Torc became a little braver, and a little more talkative. "So, Queensman," he whispered, nodding to the skeletal trees that surrounded them, "What did ye see, en th' Killin' Grounds?"

Kells debated with himself as to whether or not he should simply ignore the man. "Many things," he said finally, glancing over towards Torc. "Enough to make me very surprised indeed to see that you made your way to us alone."

"Et were nae a certain thing that Ah would hae." Torc shifted against the rope that bound him, wincing as it scraped against his bruises. "Ah had tae hide from the bogge-men more times than Ah could count. Ah heard...somethin'...callin tae me en th' voice of auld dead comrades, and fled as fast as Ah could. An' barely an hour o' sleep did Ah get fer th' moanin' o' spirits." He paused to stretch, his back cracking as he strained his shoulders. "An' now, yer goin' tae talk wit' th' ogres. Did it ever occur tae ye how mad all this was when ye set out?"

Kells did not consider himself a clever man. But he was clever enough, he thought, to recognize when someone more clever than he was trying to ply him with sly talk. And what Torc was saying set him on guard. "You'll be very careful with that tongue of yours," he snapped, tightening the lead, and gesturing ahead towards where Martim walked, "Or yon wizard may just cut it out. We go to do what must be done, mad or no. Do not think me your friend, simply because I talk to you. Indeed, I thought the wizard should have taken your head when he took just your hand."

"Ah...Ah didnae mean..." Torc mumbled, his eyes going wide. Then he shook his head, blowing a strand of patchy hair out of his face. "Alright." And then he fell silent, marching along sullenly.

Here, it seemed, the Killing Grounds had less marks of death, as they drew closer to the ogres. Few of the clans had made their home so nearby the man-eaters, and so less of the slaughter had taken place here. Though they saw less corpses nailed to trees, or stumbling around headless, they did begin to see curious signs of the ogres themselves. Large boulders, arranged in circular formations as wide across as a house, and painted with some red dye, depicting crude drawings of what looked to be giant men, chasing after smaller folk and all manner of wildlife, which fled before them helplessly.

"These are th' ogre's lands, or well, they were," Aela said, as Kells stopped to examine one of these rocks as they passed them by. "Ah suppose even th' ogres hae drawn in on themselves, wit' th' Bogge-King around. Ye ever seen an ogre?"

"I cannot say that I have," Kells replied, stepping back from the stone. This one depicted a gruesome scene of three large, pot-bellied figures sitting in a circle, happily tearing apart something small and man-shaped, with a liberal use of red that he had to assume was meant to be blood. "I have only ever heard tale of them. Giants, and man-eaters."

"Dumb, foul creatures," Aela murmured, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the stone. "Th' clans would go tae war against 'em, en th' past, Ah hear. But durin' mah lifetime, Ah only ever knew that we had an accord wit' em, tae stay out o' their lands, en return fer them nae tryin' tae eat us." She gave a small laugh, tapping on the rock. "They're strong, but nae disciplined enough fer war. Ah heard th' White Queen tried tae recruit 'em, but gave up fer fear they'd nae be able tae stop themselves from eatin' her other troops."

Kells made a noise of deep disgust. "Why not simply eliminate the things? Not something I would tolerate as a neigbor, I think."

Aela smiled, and shrugged, brushing her long red hair out of her eyes. "Ah dinnae ken. Ah s'pose they left well enough alone, as long as we stayed out o' their lands." Her eyes went back to the stone, and her smile turned a little sad. "Ah felt a bit sorry fer 'em, truth be told. An ogre es a sorry thing. Most o' their babes are born so broken that they cannae survive. Ye would find great bonepiles o' their children, sometimes. Ah think they would eat th' ones that didnae live."

"Yer too kind-hearted, sister," Torc chuckled. "The Queensman es right. We should hae kilt em all long ago. Never could get th' clans tae work together enough tae drive 'em all off, though."

Aela answered her brother's words with a blank, frosty stare, her face as still and expressionless as stone. Silently, she turned and strode away, not slowing her stride until she had caught up with Elyse, who was walking some ways ahead. Torc gave a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping.

The land here grew rougher as well; the skeletal forests thinned, and they found themselves clambering up steep hillsides, littered with boulders peeking out from beneath the blanket of snow. Mors would clamber up these with ease, and mock them from the top as weak manlings as they struggled. It made travel slow-going, and Kells thought they could not have traveled very far at all when twilight fell with cold, cutting winds that set an ache in his bones.

They made their camp within the ring of one of the ogre's circle of stones, using the boulders as shelter against the wind. They built their campfire larger, that night, than they had before. It felt a little safer to do so, now - ogres might stalk these lands, but they seemed less fearsome than the things they might meet in the heart of the Killing Grounds.

But though the cold was bitter, Martimeos did not seem able to stand the sight of Torc around the fire. The wizard fidgeted and harrumphed, puffing on his pipe, staring hard into the flames, while Elyse sat by him and murmured into his ear (and to think, Kells thought wryly, Martimeos had tried to deny the two of them were lovers). Until finally the wizard stood, snatching a stick from the fire, muttering something about wanting to examine the ogre's fortune-blasted drawings, his makeshift torch a flickering point of light in the encroaching darkness.

He had not been gone long, though, when he called them over. With a weary sigh, Kells took up Torc's leash once more, trudging through the darkness with the man to where Martim's torch lit the night. For the wizard had found something very interesting. He held his torch high for them as they approached, revealing what he had found with its weak, orange light:

A rough drawing in black charcoal and white chalk, of a looming, man-shaped shadow broken only by the white of an auroch's skull helm. And all around it, gathered in a circle, were the crude scribbles that they had come to recognize as the ogre's depictions of themselves. The wind howled as they absorbed this in silence, nearly extinguishing Martim's torch; he kept it alive only by use of the Art.

"I have to say," Kells said, uncomfortably, "This looks a little friendly for my liking."

"Exactly my thought," Martimeos replied quietly. The wizard tugged his red scarf tighter about him against the wind. "Did you ever hear of the ogres and the bogge-men being in alliance?"

This last was addressed to the Crosscraw; Aela shook her head, and Torc did not respond at all, perhaps out of fear that the slightest response might cost him his life. Mors, however, was the one who spoke. "I DO NOT COME OFTEN INTO THESE LANDS," the bear rumbled, stretching forward his barrel-sized snout to sniff at the stone. "AND I HAVE NOT SEEN A DRAWING LIKE THIS BEFORE; NOR HAVE I EVER SEEN AN OGRE TRAVELING WITH THE BOGGE-MEN."

"Ye'd think ef they were friendly, th' ogres would fight side bah side wit' the bogge-men. But Ah ent ever heard o' that, either. An if they're on friendly terms, why does et seem as if th' ogres hae abandoned so much o' their land?" Aela shook her head, giving the drawing a puzzled frown. "Ah always thought th' bogge-men were enemy tae all on the crags."

"Perhaps," Elyse said quietly, "They're worshipping him."

They all turned to face the witch. She stood at the edge of the circle of light cast by Martim's torch, wrapped in shadow, the howling wind whipping her long, dark hair behind her. "It would not be difficult for a daemon such as he to be mistaken as a god," she said as she stepped forward, her dark blue eyes gleaming, intent and focused on the drawing. She ran her hand across the stone, and nodded, as if touching something old and familiar to her. "See here, how they put him in the center, and so much larger than they are? The Bogge-King is big, but not that big compared to ogres, unless an ogre is the size of a rabbit."

"But didn't Grizel say that the Bogge-King had killed some of them?" Kells asked, as Elyse stepped away from the drawing, shaking her hand as if it had touched something filthy. "Why worship something like that?"

"Perhaps," Martim muttered darkly, "Ogres prefer a god not nearly so kind-hearted as Woed."

They left the drawing behind, subdued, as they returned to the campfire. Kells looked back, shivering, as the visage of the Bogge-King disappeared into the darkness, that white auroch's-skull helm lingering at the edge of the torchlight. Though it was foolish - it was, after all, just a drawing - he had trouble getting to sleep that night, knowing it was looking over them.

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Kells awoke to the gray light of early dawn, in the time before the sun rises, but its light has just begun to beat back the darkness.

He normally awoke earlier than the others - indeed, he sometimes felt as if they set out abominably late - but this was even earlier than usual. It was his armor, he thought, as he rolled out of his hides with a groan. He had worn it to sleep too much; it had begun to chafe. a breastplate was fine to sleep in, for a time, but wear it too often and it irritated the skin. But he always felt as if he might need it in the middle of the night, in these lands.

The fire still went strong; it seemd as if someone had been feeding it loose branches scaveneged from nearby trees. Martimeos and Elyse both still slept, though some distance from the fire; buried beneath a pile of furs and leaned up against the slumbering form of Mors for warmth, though Kells knew the wizard's Art could make just a single hide sufficient protection against the cold, at least for most of the night - it seemed to wear off after a while. Flit was a small red dot nestled into the vast black hide of the bear, and Cecil lay amongst them, stretched out as if it was trying to touch as many of them as possible while it slept. The wizard and the witch, Kells thought, could really use a bath. They stunk of animals.

But as he sat down by the fire, feeling his joints pop and crack as he lowered himself onto a bare rock that served as a seat, he noticed something interesting. Aela was awake, and Torc was unbound. Kells had tied the man's lead to one of the standing stones of the circle, to keep him in place during the night, but now his rope hung loose and limp in the snow. The two Crosscraw stood some distance from the fire, looking down over the snowy, rough slopes they had climbed, speaking with each other.

As he watched, Aela left her brother, lingering for a moment as she stepped away, before trudging her way back to the campfire. Torc remained where he was, free and untied, his patchy hair blowing in the wind.

As Aela drew close back to the campfire, she looked up, and her bright green eyes widened with surprise to see Kells sitting there. She glanced from him, nervously, back to her brother. "Ah...Ah had words fer him, away from th' ears o' others - nae anythin' bad, Ah jest - 'twas between him and me, ye ken-" she began stammering.

Kells up his hands in a warding gesture. "Calmly now," he said quietly. "I trust, you, Aela. I can imagine there might be things you would want to say to him."

"Ah can bring him back, an' we can tie him up again." she went on, tugging fretfully at her hair. "Ah only meant tae...tae give him another opportunity, tae go back tae Dun Cairn alone."

Kells looked out across the snow at Torc. The Crosscraw man had not budged an inch from the spot where Aela had left him. Clever men are dangerous, he reminded himself. He would not care if Torc decided to go back to Dun Cairn - though he thought it was a dubious prospect whether the man would make it. But he tried to think where else the man might go that would cause trouble. He had a hard time imagining anything Torc coud do; it was not as if the man had any friends out here. And he did not seem to be showing any signs of moving. "Do you think he will leave?" he asked Aela. "I worry mostly that he might somehow cause us trouble instead of going back to Dun Cairn."

Aela looked back at her brother, staring, biting her lip, sadness written on her face. "Nae," she sighed. "Ah dinnae think he will. Ah dinnae think he plans tae leave me."

Kells thought for a long moment. It was annoying, to have to lead the man around like an animal. He still did not trust Torc very far, but it might be worth it to see what the man would do with his freedom in front of him like this. If worse came to worse, and Torc did leave, now that they knew he was out there, well, they could have Flit or Mors track him for a bit, to ensure that the man truly did head back to Dun Cairn. "I think it is fine to leave him for now," he said finally. "Give him some time to think it over."

Aela hesitated, and then nodded, and took a seat across the fire. A moment of silence passed between them, as they listened to the cracklings of the flames, and the long moan of the wind against the peaks. Kells drew a dagger from his boots, and focused on trimming his fingernails with it. He rubbed a hand along his chin, and the grizzled stubble growing there. This was the blade he usually used to shave, too, but the cold made that more difficult. His thoughts strayed back to the luxurious baths the Crosscraw had at Dun Cairn. Damn, but wouldn't it feel nice to dip into one of those right now. He wondered if-

"He might hae been Chief, some day," Aela murmured.

Kells looked up in surprise, snapped out of his daydreams about warm baths and soft beds. "Who? Torc?"

"Aye." Aela did not look up from the campfire. She stretched her hands out towards the flames to warm them, watching them dance. She seemed worn down. "Chief o' the Ghostfoot. En our clan, when an ol' Chief stepped down, we'd blether on a few days about who should be th' new one, an' then vote on et. Usually chose th' most clever, an th' best warriors. I always heard mah clanfolk say Torc would hae been a good choice. Even when he came back from th' Queen's War wit' only one arm, they still said et."

"I suppose that is not surprising. He seems more than your average man." Kells bit at a loose fingernail, and spit it into the fire. "It is not just anyone who might have tracked us through such dangerous lands, in the state he is in."

"Aye." A small smile broke Aela's tired expression. "Sometimes Ah wonder. Ef th' White Queen had never lived, what would life be like now? Would Torc be Chief, wit' me never knowin he had a killer hidin' inside him? Would Ah be part o' the Ironclaw, an' happy?"

Kells did not know how to answer that. If the White Queen had never lived....his father would still be alive, he supposed. He would have never gone to Twin Lamps to be raised by Roark; never met Martimeos or Elyse, and never be having this conversation here. "'Tis something you'll never really know," he answered. "No undoing what's been done."

The Crosscraw woman did not answer this. She fell silent once more, and Kells turned his attention back to his fingernails. He was nearly done, and he knew he ought to trim his toenails as well, but black hells, he did not want to take his boots off in this cold. He should have been smart and trimmed them before he left Dun Cairn; that's what Roark would have told him. Well, there was nothing for it; might as well do it now when he was at least by a fire. He bent to unlace one of his knee-high boots-

"Kells," Aela said softly, "Where d'ye think ye go when ye die?"

Kells nearly tripped over himself. "Feeling a bit morbid this morning, are we," he muttered, recovering.

A blush graced Aela's cheeks, despite the cold, and she tugged some of her bangs across her face instinctively. "Ach, Ah - Ah didnae mean et like that. Et's...jest been on mah mind. After, uh, seein' all that we saw en th' Killin' Grounds. Mah folk say a few things. Ah was jest curious what ye lowlanders thought."

"Well," Kells replied, "Lowlanders say a few things about it, as well. If you're wicked, they say, Old Scratch takes you away to the hells."

"Aye," Aela nodded, "Mah folk say that too."

"But there are other places you might go. Some say you get rewarded in death; merchants go to a house of endless gold, farmers to a land where crops never wither and harvest is bountiful." He chuckled. "Soldiers go to a place where they're well paid but there's never any war, so they've nothing but free time, no duties, and coin to spend. Or your spirit might linger, if you've left something unfinished. Or a hundred other things, really, I've heard from merchants passing through town. I don't think anyone truly knows."

"Ah see." Kells became a bit uncomfortable with how intently Aela was staring at him. The Crosscraw woman had the wild stare of someone about to jump off a cliff. "Mah folk, they say ef Scratch doesnae take ye, an' ye spirit doesnae linger, ye go intae th' sky when ye die, or ye sink intae th' stone. Yer there, tae watch over all who come after ye." She paused, wringing her hands, and then glanced back to the fire. "Ah hope they're right," she said softly. "Ah think Ah'd like tha'."

"Aela," Kells asked slowly, "Are you afraid you're going to die?"

Aela whipped her head up, giving him a panicked, searching look, and then seemed to relax a bit. "Nae afraid," she replied. "Ah ken what Ah walk towards. Ah am...glad, tae be along. It would hae been shameful tae nae come. Ah jest...Ah was thinkin' there was much Ah would hae liked tae do. Afore th' end."

"Well, it's no certain thing we'll die. We do have a wizard and a witch with us. I might wish they might be older and more experienced, but still, that's no small thing."

"O' course," Aela replied, as if she did not really believe him. "It ent certain."

Kells tucked away his dagger back into his boot. He'd have to trim his toenails another time. "We have a saying, among us lowlanders," he said, catching Aela's eyes across the fire. "'Born to Die.'"

Aela gave a puzzled frown. "What es tha' supposed tae mean?"

"Well...it's just something soldiers say, I suppose." Kells gave an amused smile, but a grim one, one that did not touch his slate-gray eyes. He had been confused by the saying at first, as well. "Nobody tells you what it means. But I always thought it meant that...dying happens to everyone. You're not going to like it, but there's no avoiding it. Everything ends, eventually. So don't worry so much about when it will come." He shrugged. "If it happens, it happens."

Aela stared at him for a long moment, silent, her expression as blank as the snow. Then she gave a grim laugh, shaking her head, her long red curls flying wildly about her. "Th' Chief es right," she said. "Ye lowlanders are a harder folk than we think. Born tae die."

Her laughter only grew stronger, and it was infectious; soon Kells found himself laughing along with her, although he was not sure why.

She laughed until she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes, and then gave a long, happy sigh. "Ach, Queensman," she said, when she had her breath again. "Ah'm sorry. Ah promised ye Ah'd get ye pumpkin seeds, did Ah nae? Ah don't believe Ah ever will, naow."

"Well, who's to say. If we're successful, your mountains will be free once more, won't they? And I will return to Twin Lamps. With the path free, you could even come to visit." Kells gave her a friendly wink. "Bring your coin. I'll get my pumpkin seeds out of you yet."

Aela's smile could not mask the sadness in her eyes. "Aye," she replied. "Aye. That'd be nice."

Kells frowned as he looked at her. Something seemed off about the woman, but he wasn't sure what it was. But before he could think of anything to say, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. He looked up to find that Torc had returned to stand by the campfire; Aela moved away as he approached, not letting her brother get within three feet of her. But if this affected the Crosscraw man, he did not let it show; his bruised face was as still as stone. "Ye'd best tie me up again, Queensman," he said stiffly. "The wizard will wake up soon, and Ah dinnae wish tae have him hackin' off more bits o' me."

Torc remained perfectly still as Kells rose with a groan and bound the man once more. It took him longer than it should have; he kept fumbling with the knots. The cold made his hands numb, and besides; he could not help but watch after Aela, puzzled.

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It was, in fact, some time before Martimeos and Elyse awoke; enough for Kells to feel tempted to go wake them himself. By the time the wizard and the witch staggered to the campfire, the day had grown bright. But it was a gray dawn, downcast, the sky streaked with clouds that were worryingly dark. It looked like snow, Kells thought grimly; Fortune grace them that it would hold off.

A breakfast of cold hardtack bread served them before they set off, kicking snow over their campfire before they went. To Kells' surprise, Mors lingered by the stones for a moment, before they took off. The massive bear sniffed disdainfully at the drawing of the Bogge-King the ogres had made. And then, with one gigantic paw, he awkwardly rubbed snow on it, long claws scraping against the stone, until the markings were marred and indistinguishable.

Their path led them up even steeper hillsides than the one they had climbed yesterday; in some parts, they had to take the long way around sheer cliff faces they were entirely unable to climb. Torc, with his one arm bound around him, had a particularly difficult time keeping his balance. More than once, it was only Kells holding onto his leash that kept the man from falling. But still, he displayed a remarkable endurance, or so Kells thought; he could not imagine climbing these slopes with his own arms tied behind his back.

"You seem to be doing better today," he remarked to the man, after they had clambered up a particularly steep, narrow path surrounded by boulders the size of houses, almost too small for Mors to squeeze through. "Not nearly so much coughing."

He had not meant to start a conversation - merely an idle comment, to pass the silent march - but Torc nodded. "Yon witch ent so bad wit' th' healin' an' th' herbs," he said, jerking his head towards Elyse, who marched some distance ahead. "An' ye'd be surprised how a little rest can restore ye. 'Tis mostly mah stump Ah'm worried about. She says et may be infected."

I should let this go, Kells thought to himself. But he had a curiousity prickling at him. He coughed, glancing towards Torc. "Hmm. I would not have thought you had got much rest, last night. With how early you were up speaking with Aela."

He grimaced, as Torc rolled his eyes at him. "Are ye that curious as tae what we spoke of, Queensman," the haggard Crosscraw man said sardonically. "Try tae make et less obvious. Et were nothin' ye'd find interestin', anyway." A pained look crossed his face; his hung his shoulders, and looked towards the ground. "Jest family things."

"She woke you up and untied you just for that?" Kells asked dubiously.

Torc returned his question with a flat stare. "Aye. She wanted tae hae one last conversation wit' me, as brother an' sister. Ef ye must ken. There'll be nae more between us. Ah'm truly a stranger tae her now."

Kells did not answer this. Instead, he took a good, hard look at Torc. The Crosscraw man; armless and handless, bruised and broken, his patchy, half-burnt scalp, dressed in filthy hides, tired green eyes looking back in a dull stare. He remembered what Aela had said this morning, and found himself wondering himself, where Torc might be, if it were not for the White Queen. "Well," he said, turning around to focus on the path once more, "I can't say you don't deserve it. Living a lie, as you did."

"Ah ken Ah deserve et," Torc said quietly. "Ah ended up wit' more good than Ah should hae gotten. All these years, playin' th' hero fer her. Wonderin' when th' day would come that she discovered the sort o' man Ah really was. Ah well. 'Twas nice while et lasted." And then he chuckled. "Ah jest realized. All that time since th' Queen's War. An here Ah am, bein' pulled around bah a Queensman still, years later. Life's funny, ent et?"

"I realize it makes no difference to you," Kells muttered in reply, "But I am no Queensman. Twin Lamps was my home."

Torc gave him a nod that was just a little too knowing for Kells' liking. "Jest as ye tol' the Chief." And then he asked, his tone just a touch too innocent, "Ah heard ye callin' the witch 'sister' this mornin. Es she truly your sister? Ye look enough alike."

Kells gave a puzzled frown. "No. Just a term of endearment."

"That's funny," Torc replied, "Fer Ah spent much time amongst th' lowlanders. An Ah' only knew o' one folk who had that funny way o' callin' their friends. An' it were bred and blooded Queensmen, ye ken. An' not jest any o' them, nae, their common folk weren't en th' habit. Et were their knights and noblemen who tended tae do et."

Kells turned around slowly, to stare at Torc. He had not even realized himself that he had done this with Elyse. The witch must have reminded him enough of home that he had chosen the nickname out of familiarity. "Young, tae be a knight, Ah think," Torc continued idly, looking Kells up and down. "That would make ye a noble's son. But ye dinna hae th' fancy airs most o' their nobles had. Ye seem tae ken yer way about a weapon. A knight's son?"

It was a little unnerving just how close the man was getting to the truth with so little. "Is there a point to this," Kells asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Are you trying to threaten me?"

"Nae threat, Queensman," Torc replied with a shrug. "Ye wanted mah secrets. So now Ah'm readin' some o' yers. Ah'm a wee bit interested in th' man whou couldnae stop starin' at mah sister this mornin'."

Kells opened his mouth to reply, but then they both froze. For that was when they heard it.

The steady, rhythmic beat of drums.