It took a month, or something close to it, to cross it. They traveled at night. The stars glimmered endlessly. When they reached the end of the long, dry walk, their skin on their hands and faces was cracking. Oakley collapsed to his knees, coughing. Angus handed him the last of the water, and he drank it carefully.

“Why didn’t you change the desert, too?”

Angus chuckled, and sat down as well. “I couldn’t reach it.” He replied, rubbing the crown a bit resentfully. It had burnt his forehead and scalp during the long trek, but he’d been unable to take it off.

Rising, they continued their journey. When they came to a spring they jumped in, laughing. Weeds crept along the muddy bank. Angus grabbed a handful and chucked it at Oakley, who returned fire. After they were both thoroughly filthy, they scrubbed themselves off and swam laps while their clothes dried.

Camping by it that night, they stayed up late telling stories about half-fish men and old-school gods and talking animals.

In the morning, Angus woke to find Oakley already up.

“Hullo sleepyhead,” Oakley told him. He was sitting on a stone by the water.

“Morning.” Angus yawned. “Something up?”

Oakley shook his head. “Nah, it’s just the first time I’ve seen my reflection since…”

Angus rose and sat beside his friend. They both looked different. Angus, with his crown, looked older somehow. He’d have looked older without it, too, although he didn’t know it.

Oakley looked young. Too young to bear so many scars.

After a moment of silence, Angus began to gather for a fire. Oakley went fishing. They had fried leek and trout for breakfast.

They spent the rest of the morning hunting, and brought back a dead rabbit. They cut it into strips, and hung it from their bags while they walked. It turned to dry, tough strips of meat as they traveled north.

Camping on hill tops or by streams, or in small, cozy ravines, they walked on, isolated, until one day they came across a boy and his father. They were herding sheep together, with an enthusiastic young dog that yipped and bounded across the hilly landscape—ears flapping. A pang went through Angus—it looked a lot like Zeka, only without the white spot.

The boy spotted Angus and Oakley first, and tugged his father’s sleeve, pointing.

“And who might you be?” The man asked gruffly.

“Just travelers.”

“You’re black-eyed.”

“So?” Oakley asked.

“So, you’d best steer clear of us. We don’t need the trouble.”

Angus paused. “What kind of trouble?”

He looked at the ground thoughtfully. “Ajax’s got a word out on you. Been listening to Chazo fairy tales.”

“I see.” Oakley said. “And he wouldn’t have, say, wiped out a whole camp, did he?”

“There’s a group forming because of that. I could point you that direction.”

“We’d be grateful.” Angus said.

“They’re north of here—right in the western curve of the Ble. You know where I mean?”

“Ai.” Oakley said. “Thanks.”

He shook his head. “You’re the same age as my eldest. He’d have like to avenge us, too.”

Angus nodded.

They trotted away. Oakley clenched and unclenched his grip on his sword handle.

“You going to be okay?”

“Not until Ajax is dead.”

There was a brief silence.

“I thought—” Oakley said suddenly. “I thought someone just wanted our livestock. People do senseless things…”

“It’s not your fault.” Angus assured him.

Oakley nodded, his face twitching around his scars. “I know. But I wish I’d known.”

“Ai.”

They walked on. Weeks passed. When they stopped by a pond, Angus used the reflection to cut his own hair. Oakley laughed at the results. They chased down an injured goat and ate it. The days got shorter, and the nights colder.

Eventually, the blue of the Ble came into sight. It rushed along within its banks, now. The floodplain surrounding it was covered in a thick, soft layer of grass. They followed it west.

Sooner than later, they began to see grass clipped short by livestock, and dirt paths trodden into the hills.

Coming over a hill, Angus gasped at an enormous encampment. There must have been at least fifty groups down there, all camped next to one another. Angus counted seventy tents.

In the center was a large red tent. It was right beside the camp’s main fire, and people went in and out of it. The wind swayed it gently.

They headed towards it. Around them, the camp grew still. Eyes peered from behind tent flaps, from under caps and scarves, and from seen and unseen places all around. A man approached them.

“I am Caz,” he said. “Are you the black-eyed brothers?”

Angus nodded.

“And do you claim yourselves royalty?” He gestured to the crown angrily. “Come to rule us?”

The crowd murmured.

“Another placed this crown on my head, and I cannot remove it,” Angus explained. He tugged at it fruitlessly. “I would if I could, I assure you.”

The man studied him with pursed lips, for a moment, then softened.

“We have been expecting you,” he said, “Although we had no reason to. This way.” He turned and trotted off. After a moment of hesitation, Oakley and Angus followed.

The crowd parted soundlessly for them. It was an eerie silence and Angus knew not all the stares were well-meaning.

Caz led them to a brown and blue tent where refreshments had been set out.

“Wait here.” He told them, then left.

Uneasily, the two laid out their bedrolls. Angus re-organized his pack. Oakley chewed a lock of his too-long hair, flicking stones at the tent wall.

When Caz came back, he had a young woman in tow. She cleaned up the uneaten refreshments and left.

“My daughter.” Caz said absently. He was watching them both thoughtfully. They’d risen when he’d entered. Oakley eyed him back. Angus smiled blandly.

“The trio have agreed to see you, now,” Caz said. “They’re glad of your support.”

Oakley nodded.

“This way.” Caz said, and for the second time that day, they followed him through a maze of tents.

The trio wore simple black clothes. Two of them wore bone necklaces like Oakley’s, although smaller. The other wore a simple bracelet with one bone. He was the youngest of the three, with a scraggly black beard and a wan smile to greet them. The other two, aged and worn looking, didn’t smile.

“Oakley,” the younger man said. “It’s nice to meet you. I am Kaarle.”

Oakley tipped his head. “The same.”

“And you are?” Kaarle turned to Angus.

“Angus, his brother in black eyes.”

“Ah. And your—?” He gestured to his head.

“A long story.”

“Perhaps you could tell it, sometime.”

“I might, given the time.”

One of the other men stepped forward. “I am Cato.” He said, “This is Paithoon.” He gestured to the other man, who was distinct by his light green eyes. “Are you here to fight?”

“We like to think of ourselves as our own tribe.” Oakley said proudly. “And we’re here to avenge our losses.”

Paithoon nodded. “I can see that.”

“Do you think we can provide these two a goat?” Cato asked.

“Yes,” Kaarle said. “I think we can.”

“Good,” Paithoon said. “I leave them to you, Kaarle.”

Kaarle walked them to the tent flap, and gestured to Caz. “Get them a goat. Make it one of my own camp’s.”

Oakley tipped his head to Kaarle, and Kaarle returned the favor.

Kaarle turned to Angus and tapped his own forehead. “You must tell me that story, eh?”

“Ai.” Angus replied. “It would be a pleasure.”

They were led back to their own camp, where a brown and white dairy goat was waiting. It maaa’ad unhappily.

Angus sat down beside the goat and patted it happily. “Any reason for the goat?” He asked.

“Goats are livestock, and that’s what you need to have a tribe. Livestock, people, and a whole lot of guts.”

“Hopefully not human ones.” Angus said, lips twitching.

“You have such a weird sense of humor.”

They milked the goat idly, then staked it out back. Angus wished Zeka was there—she would have loved guarding it.

Brushing aside his loneliness, he asked Oakley to keep an eye on the goat, then wandered out into camp. Men and women bustled around him, talking and walking briskly. Angus could see meat being smoked, butter being churned, and all manner of food related activities going on. Men fought, too, in makeshift sparring rings. They used cudgels and staffs, which made a peculiar thumping noise as they whacked exposed flesh. Angus thought about joining in, but didn’t think he’d be welcome. Everyone in the camp—men, women, children—watched him warily as he wandered about. Children got out of his way silently, staring as he passed. Women clucked at him, and eyed him, and made sure their children were close. Men just refused to look at him. He wasn’t sure if they were afraid of him or disgusted.

When he came back, Oakley had left for a meeting with all the trio. As a tribe leader, he was invited. He’d left a note, and apologized for leaving the goat unattended. He’d also named her Edda.

Angus went outside and stroked the goat thoughtfully.

“Edda, eh?” He mused. “I’m not sure I like it, but it sure suits you. Maybe I just don’t like you.”

The goat bleated and tried to eat his sleeve. He drew his hand back and wrinkled his nose.

“No,” he decided. “You’re no dog.” Sitting at the edge of the goats reach, he sharpened his sword thoughtfully.

A little girl peeked out from the tent beside theirs and giggled. He ignored her. She peeked out again, sticking her tongue out at him now.

He smiled. “Who are you, cheeky?”

“I’m not cheeky!”

“Than what are you?”

“I’m Sachi.”

“Ah, a sachi creature. I’m afraid I’ve never heard of them.”

“That’s my name, silly. What’s yours?”

“I am Angus.” He replied.

She laughed. “What a funny name.”

“It’s from the northwest. It’s a different place.”

“Are you from there?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you miss your mama?”

“Yes. I miss my whole family.”

“I only have a mama.”

“Me too, but I have others who take care of me, so they’re family, too.”

“Yeah.” She crawled out from her tent and sat next to him. “I used to have a dad, too.”

“Did you? What was he like?”

“He was nice. Tall. He’d give me piggy back rides, and rock me to sleep at night. Tell me stories.”

“I always wished I had someone to do that.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing to have. I miss him awful.”

“I’d miss him, too.”

“Yeah. What’s your goat named?”

“Edda.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re not supposed to give goats people names.”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t. I think you should name it Simeio.”

“What does that mean?”

“Spot!”

Angus laughed. “She does have spots, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah! Can I pet her?”

“If you wish.”

The girl jumped to her feet and enthusiastically rubbed the goat. She must have had goats before, because she knew all the right places to scratch. The goat butted her affectionately.

A whistle sounded from the other tent. “Sachi!” A woman called.

“I have to go now,” the little girl said. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

She slipped back into the tent, where she was berated enthusiastically.