Sha’dru sat with the girl's head on her thighs, on the roof of the wagon assigned to their defense, when she suddenly awoke, drawing a sharp breath.

  "Easy, don't get up," she said, gently holding her in place as her first instinct was to rise.

  "As you can guess, the attack was successfully repelled. You slept for about half a day. You've stopped bleeding, and as far as I could check, nothing is broken," she explained gently, placing a hand on her forehead as if checking for a fever, while asking, "How do you feel?"

  Gra’sha took a deep breath to check her ribs, moved all her fingers and toes slightly, then tilted her head left and right. Everything seemed to be in order. Just like after the first battle, a storm of spiritual energy was still raging inside her, but now she knew that in a few days it would calm, settle, and become part of her own.

  "I'm fine, but I think I'll lie here a little longer," she said and smiled, showing her lower tusks.

  "Of course, lie as long as you want. Rest some more," Sha’dru replied, slowly stroking her head.

  Gra’sha closed her eyelids. A light wind cooled her face, carrying the scent of blooming lavender, and memories of her mother flooded her in a surging wave. A scene from her childhood, when she was completely safe and carefree, lying just like this on her mother's lap under a tree by a meadow where the bushes bloomed. She drifted into a nap on the border of waking and sleep, lulled by the motion of the wagon, the memory of her mother, and the closeness of her friend.

  Sha’dru was pleased; her intuition had not failed her. She was now certain that she had not been mistaken about the girl. Despite her unassuming build, she possessed great battle potential. Moreover, it was confirmed that her wounds healed as if on some mythical beast. She was convinced that the girl could achieve far greater things than serving in the chieftain's warband, which she mentioned so often. It's hard to dream of great things when you are chasing the small ones your whole life, she thought with a mixture of sympathy and compassion.

  She looked around the area, still unconsciously stroking the girl's hair. The caravan had not lost a single wagon, but it had lost at least half a dozen people, and another half were wounded and now rode in grim spirits. The people from the east, in her opinion, were not cut out for fighting, at least not the ones the caravan master had hired. Apart from the guard commander, none of them would have even received silver cubes in their clan. They had lost two orcs hired from Wolf Rock, it was true, but she explained this to herself by the fact that, firstly, they were from the volunteer corps and not the chieftain's warband, and secondly, they had fallen in battle against an ogre, not those dusty, starved raiders, or, ancestors forbid, goblins. She attributed the victory over the ogre to herself and Gra’sha, which gave her a good negotiating position in the division of the spoils. The caravan took most of it, but from the portion that went to the defenders, she chose two decent straight swords, apparently from the same forge as they were twin-like, one for each of them.

  Not without sympathy for the young warrior, but with deliberation, she took on the role of a confidante, a surrogate older sister. From this position, she could influence Gra’sha's actions and help push her in a direction that she believed was beneficial for them both. She judged that the girl certainly still needed more battle experience, which no amount of training could replace, and she intended to provide it. This time, no one but her had been able to observe the details of the clash with the ogre, but she understood that sooner or later someone in the clan would certainly notice what she saw in her. However, she intended to postpone that moment as long as possible. This trip was perfect for that.

  For years, she had observed the stagnation in which the clan was mired. The oldest of the veterans stayed close to the chieftain and still enjoyed his trust and affection, which translated into influence. His son, Ner’hur, was an extension of this power, a man, in her opinion, without enough hunger to contest his father's authority. This ruling, narrow coterie within the warrior caste admitted few into its circle.

  She didn't think life in Wolf Rock was bad, but she wanted decidedly more than proving herself in battle for years, only to perhaps end up on the fringes of the chieftain's warband, from where the only way forward was to marry into the family of some decrepit veteran. In the young warrior, she saw a chance to change her fate. A chance for victories whose fruits would be theirs to share. I won't let those old men make another tool out of you in their greedy clutches. Instead, we'll help each other, won't we? she thought, glancing at the peaceful face of the sleeping girl.

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  Sha’dru diligently watched the surroundings from the height of the wagon until the evening stop. It seemed that nothing and no one was following them. Only then did she wake Gra’sha and help her down from the wagon. She might not have been visibly injured, but she was still clearly a bit dizzy. She gave her a drink and then stood guard while she went to relieve herself; they were still in no-man's-land, after all.

  She heated their rations, and they sat down under the trunk of a large ginkgo tree at the edge of the temporary camp. They ate in silence. Gra’sha was definitely hungry, as she ate her portion with great enthusiasm, and after the meal, she stretched out her legs and let out a satisfied sigh. Sha’dru was halfway through her portion at the time and asked with a short, "Better?"

  "Yes, that's what I needed. A drink and a meal. I slept all day, like never before," she replied in a cheerful tone.

  "Maybe you dreamed of something pleasant, and that's why you didn't want to wake up?" Sha’dru joked.

  "Maybe a little, but I don't remember the details anymore," she replied, a little embarrassed, stretching the truth slightly. She remembered well but couldn't find the words to explain it.

  For a brief moment, Sha’dru didn't let up, looking at her with some amusement, her eyelids slightly narrowed. A red scar still ran across her left one, making her gaze even more piercing, as if she recognized the shadow of falsehood in her voice. But after a moment, she graciously changed the subject, to her relief. She handed her a sheathed sword with the words, "This is for you. A share of the spoils. I chose it myself."

  "A share of the spoils?" she asked, a bit thrown off, but she drew the blade halfway out, and her eyes lit up.

  "Well, yes. This isn't a clan expedition where all the loot goes to the clan at the discretion of the chieftain and the veterans. We defeated raiders, and some of the goods were distributed among the defenders," she explained to the young warrior.

  "I see," she replied, intrigued, then added more cheerfully, "It's excellent. This is good steel. Thank you."

  At that, the young woman quickly finished eating and drew her own sword, an almost identical copy of the one she had just given away, and added, "I didn't leave empty-handed either."

  "Ha, they're the same!" Gra’sha stated joyfully. "We can train together."

  "Of course. You've barely gotten up, and you're already thinking about training," she replied, laughing lightly, then added, "Apparently, you really are better. That's good. You'll take the first watch."

  "Oh no-o-o, I think I'm getting dizzy again," she said with feigned drama, pressing the back of her hand to her temple.

  "None of that. And you're washing the bowls after supper," Sha’dru replied, getting up and brushing the forest litter from her pants. She straightened up and, standing over the girl, sent her a gentle look, then added, "I'm glad you're alright. That was one hell of an ogre, Gra’sha. I'm proud of you."

  "Mmm," she replied shortly, nodding her head energetically. Such direct praise from the young woman left her unable to find the right words. She took their bowls, mumbled something incomprehensible, and walked with them into the camp, slightly embarrassed. Sha’dru watched her go, waited a moment, and then returned to the wagon at a leisurely pace.

  That night was quiet, as was the next, and so on the fourth day, the caravan slowly approached the growing sight of Riverbend. The river at this point was wide, calm, and deep. This easternmost orc stronghold was built on the ruins of a squat dwarven watchtower that rose from the end of a stone bridge. The old stone walls on both sides were densely built up with wooden huts and tents, and the whole was encircled by a palisade and sharpened stakes. They were descending toward the settlement from a small hill, so they could also see that there was a harbor where small figures of goblins were fishing by the sweat of their brow, and even from this distance, one could see and hear the birds flying over the stronghold, which was famous for its fish.

  They reached their destination in the late afternoon. The gate was opened for them, and the entire caravan rolled inside, to the clear relief of the people from the east. They didn't expect such problems across the river as they had here, and they could take their wagons, stuffed to the brim, back to their own land, where they would sell them to their kinsmen at a great profit.

  The girls received their payment from the caravan master, who was unfazed by all the events. He thanked them politely for their protection in their own tongue and assured them that he would gladly use their help again if he were to return to these parts.

  They both agreed that what they needed most was a bath and found a bathhouse that travelers could use for a fee, where they washed away the dust of the entire journey with great relief.