The Sachi armourer ran a clawed finger along the leather, peering at it with keen eyes. Looking up at Mulin, he chittered something, a query.

“He asks, it is a good fit? It’ll not move on you, but not dig into your hide either?”

“No, it feels fine.” Mulin stomped around a little, the cleats ringing on the stone; they didn’t shift any more than he’d expect, for instance, his own hide to do already. “It still feels strange, but it’s not uncomfortable at all.”

“Well, we’ll be able to put it to the test soon,” Hark said. His sword was still in its sheath at his hip, but he was hefting a longspear, swinging it in his hands as one might a staff. “Caution is what we need now, yes?”

“Oh, yes. A step forward is no use if you slide back ten, no,” Sharliss agreed. “But you’ve done well with these, and this is the better time of year to be venturing into the higher peaks; there is less snow there, but with autumn cooling the air, what’s there is good and solid. The first storms should be a long while off yet.”

“Let’s not lose that time we have, then.” Kisa shifted her pack. “The stoutwing will be well-tended, you said?”

“Oh, yes. Our own beast-handler will tend to it personally as she goes to the hills,” the shaman promised. “She gets along well with him.”

“Is anyone missing anything?”

Mulin checked. All that he’d carried on his harness was still there – signals, water, purifiers, hunting knife, crysknife, all of it. But the harness was over a wool cloak, cut longer, covering more, than any such garment he’d worn before. It had taken some careful work to make it accommodate his wings while still covering enough to be useful. So far, it seemed to work; indoors, he was sweltering. It had served him quite well during their last hurried day, but they’d be going a great deal farther up, into far colder places. He, too, had a longspear in addition to the short one, the latter now slung between his wings, and a belt had been added to the harness; a belt on which hung a heavy coil of rope and some sturdy metal buckles.

The rope and buckles, the spear to use as a pole, the cleats, and pitons were all they’d had time to adapt and learn. Hopefully the weather didn’t prove Sharliss wrong; the passes here were gentle, which was why the city had sprung up here in the first place, but even they could sometimes drift over.

Making their way outside was a mercy; the heavy cloaks were much more comfortable in the cool air outside than indoors with the fire. There was a quick discussion between Sharliss, the newly-arrived party of Sachi, and the ones about to head down to the hills; one of the latter exchanged nuzzles with the shaman.

And then they were off, ten pairs of cleats ringing on the stone streets.

Once they left the solid stone and reached gravel, the cleats were easer on the ears. They crunched their way upward without a word spoken, leaning on their spears – all except Sharliss, who simply undulated his way along. With six feet to move on, about the last thing the Sachi was concerned with was balance.

They spent the morning climbing, pausing with the sun near zenith for rest and a meal; Sharliss shed his climbing gloves, and spent a good portion of the break stretching his fingers. Then onward again. They broke again in mid-afternoon; two hours later, Sharliss informed them that they’d reached the last good campsite that they could expect to find before dark, and that forced an end to the day’s travels.

Not that any of the Vhark minded, except for a bit of frustration that so much time went to waste. Knowing what had happened to the people of Mar Drerrasett hadn’t given anyone much inclination toward patience.

They were, however, tired; this was harder work than their legs normally did, not least because they were carrying the supplies that the stoutwing had before. Even with Sharliss carrying the heaviest items, it was still quite a bit of extra weight for each of them. Only Hark wasn’t winded, and he was sore.

After a quick dinner, with their camp already set up, Mulin found a rock to peer on, gazing to the west as the sun approached the horizon. He’d not had a chance to view the sunset from so high up before; they’d turned in too late over the past few days, too busy when the sun went down to stand still and watch it.

“A soothing sight for the eyes, yes?” Sharliss flowed in beside him, midpaws splaying over the rock. “A beautiful place, this is. The wish is on me that you’d come to see it in happier times.”

“I never knew,” Mulin admitted. “I’ve never been nearly this far from home, before.”

“Of course; you are young, for all the burdens placed upon you. That is a feeling I know well, wind-folk. Very well indeed. And the one you share with your ____.”

Mulin blinked.

He could not for the life of him figure out exactly what Sharliss had finished by saying. Either “lover” or “brother” – but the confusion was strange in itself; in the Vhark language, the two words were nothing alike.

Yet his ears insisted he’d heard each one. Together, somehow.

“I – I don’t…”

“Be at ease; none will overhear us.” The shaman tilted his head. “You are a child of destiny. Potential surrounds you; history follows in your wake. A heavy weight to bear, winged one – and a force that will not be denied.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean?” he asked, though a tightness in his stomach – and a rather different one below it, and his suddenly hammering pulse – told him he already knew full well.

One of those paws moved over, warm, rough pads settling over his own hand. “Yours is a returning destiny,” Sharliss murmured. “For as long as time has been time, it has been bound to those like you. This time it has taken a most strange twist – but to be sure of success, you must not resist its draw. Your own timeline proclaims him your brother. That of your shared destiny calls for more. If you refuse it, you refuse your destiny – and in so doing would you invite failure. Perhaps you will survive, but success becomes a distant glimmer. A candle before the storm, and not the beacon of hope we need.”

Mulin almost expected to be angry. He’d known this… this mystic for all of two days, and he somehow felt entitled to intrude on his most private concerns, things he’d not seen fit to share with anyone? And yet… he wasn’t angry at all.

He was just confused.

“Do you think… do you think that if… if we do, that would keep the dreams away from us?”

“You’ve no need of that,” Sharliss declared, shaking his head sharply. “Your mind is as the mountain stone, child of destiny. The dreams will not touch you, nor your brother/lover.” Again the strange dichotomy in his memory.

“Why not?” Not that he was complaining – not after the tale of what had happened to the people of Mar Drerrasett – but if he knew what the cause was, he might b able to use it.

But the shaman shook his head. “The why, I cannot say. Maybe your shining hide is a part of it, or your wizard’s eyes. But you have no need of my art to protect you. The others, however…” One of those curious shrugs he’d seen in the other shaman passed along his body, one pair of legs at a time. “The big one, there is stone in his mind, too, for all the warmth of his heart. But his is not is strong as yours, and the others even less. I will do what I can; for now, it should be enough, but once we are in the higher places, whatever speed we can safely muster would make for the wisest course.”

That, truly, was one worry he’d rather not court any longer than he needed to. “I just wish we could make better time on the way there,” he sighed.

“So do we all, winged one. So do we all. You have protection of a sort – your fate waits for you. It draws you; you will meet the moment of truth. But such things can lie in strange forms – the true challenge might be smaller than any of us know. Perhaps it will not be any grand confrontation, but the simple fact that you pass this or that obstacle. You may succeed in your mission,” he patted Mulin’s hand with his paw, “but no doubt there are many who would wish to see you return to tell of it.”

There were two that he knew of – two that truly mattered, at any rate. The others were all here with him.

He thought, not for the first time, of what Liri had said to him, that night a few days before their departure. Of the heartwarming offer she had made.

He wondered what the look on his parents’ faces might be, if he somehow solved this whole mess and returned to them, not only with news of success, but also to say that he would himself be a father.

He took a breath.

For everyone’s sake, but also for his own, he would keep going. And he would be vigilant.

“I… need to think about a few things,” he said.

“No doubt you do, promised one. Think well, and find the answers in your heart.”

And with that he was gone. By the time Mulin turned, Sharliss was already well back with the others, sorting through his own pack.

Had he even been here with Mulin? He’d been so sure that nobody would notice their words… had those words even been out loud? Nobody among the Vhark really knew what Sachi shamans could do. Could they… speak to someone’s spirit, or something of the sort? Speak without words?

Mulin wasn’t about to say they couldn’t. Sharliss had, after all, seen things he hadn’t ever spoken of since arriving at Mar Drerrasett.

And, damn it all, he’d been right, too. Only keeping busy had kept thoughts of his twin from his mind, and keeping sufficiently busy was feeling a little harder. Maybe it wasn’t just coincidence – maybe the thoughts were trying harder to break through.

Would it really do any harm if they did indulge together? Out here, with nobody else to tell?

Heavy thoughts to occupy his mind. But at least they were pleasant ones.

And they would have to wait a short time. It had got late while he wasn’t paying attention; time to find his bed and sleep.