Lera woke.

The sky was clear above her, the stars brilliant, the waxing moon having already set. There was a gentle breeze, cool, but not cold, especially not with the blanket to keep her warm. She could hear Falduin snoring nearby. The fire smouldered and crackled. Everything appeared routine, and yet something had roused her from a dead sleep.

As soon as they had made camp she had lain down to sleep forgoing the rabbits Ifonsa had found, which they roasted over hot coals. She was simply too tired. Ganthe hadn’t been badly injured, but tending to his wounds had taxed her tremendously. In fact, the last few days had taken their toll, physically, mentally, but especially spiritually. The griffon had greatly tested her faith.

She had been terrified of it, just like the others at first. Her spear ready, she was about to follow Heric, and charge at the beast. Then she saw it for what it was.

“How does the thing with the griffons work?” Falduin asked as they were looking about for a place to camp. “Does a mummy cat and daddy eagle love each other very much? Or is it the other way around?” He laughed.

“Do not mock the tenets of my faith, Falduin!” Lera warned.

She was already riled at him. He had desecrated the griffon’s corpse, plucking several feathers. He had also wanted to gouge out its eye too before Heric stopped him. Falduin was certain they had some alchemical use.

“I am not mocking you,” Falduin pleaded. “I genuinely wish to know.”

“They were cursed. That’s all you need to know.”

She regretted now being so curt with Falduin, in fact with them all. Yes, it was a horrible crime to harm an eagle, even a cursed one, but the griffon had planned to eat them. Lera just felt awful that she had been unable to save it. She reconciled her grief with the belief that it had not suffered too greatly. From the look (and smell) of the creature, it might not have lasted much longer before suffering a long, agonising death from starvation.

Lera offered her prayer to Úlæ, then rose from her makeshift bed. She took the blanket and covered Falduin with it. He barely stirred. Lera looked down at him and smiled.

She still had much to learn adapting to life on campaign, despite all the years she had spent during The Wars crusading with her fellow Sisters of Axiom. They had tended to the injured and the dying, bringing what comfort they could manage. It had been hard, but they had always worked as a group - a large group - with supporters to help them set up and manage the operation. This was so much harder.

Just carrying enough food, water and other supplies for herself was arduous - and they were on poor rations. It had exhausted her quite utterly, and she’d done it for less than a handful of days.

In comparison, The Sisters had wagons filled with their supplies: leather tents, wooden and linen cots, and weeks of food for all of them. And the supporters saw that all these were provided for, arranged, and set-up, so the Sisters could care for the soldiers and other wounded.

Even during those months when she had served as a wandering minister, she hadn’t been weighed down by so much. She only needed to carry what she needed to reach the next settlement. There was always someone willing to offer her a meal or place to sleep. Out in the wilderness there was no such luxury. And yet, she felt as though she was the lucky one.

Falduin had none of that preparation. She felt sorry for him. This journey must have been quite an adjustment. Worse, given that it was not one entirely of his own choosing. She sympathised, and understood why he had complained the entire time.

From what little she had garnered from their conversations over the last few days, Falduin had not travelled much. And he had always been mounted - usually within a group.

He had quipped that the most inconvenienced he’d been previously while travelling was being forced to stay at a village tavern for the night. He had told her a little about the worst places he had stayed, and the best places (The Regal Seaside in Arthleah was his favourite). Strangely, he revealed little else about his past life.

Ifonsa appeared out of the darkness as Lera donned her hauberk.

“What’s wrong?” Ifonsa whispered.

“I will take watch,” Lera told her.

Ifonsa eyed her for a long moment, then nodded.

By the time Lera had pulled on her coif, Ifonsa had crawled into her own bed. She pulled her cloak over her for warmth and burrowed her head deep under it.

For a moment, Lera considered not wearing her surcoat. All white, it was the badge of the Sisters of Axiom, symbolising purity, righteousness, and chastity. Did she have any right to wear it now?

The Sisters took oaths of non-violence, and Lera had readily sworn hers. She had lived and preached those tenets.

Then came the night where everything changed. Nearly three years ago now (was it really that long?). She had witnessed the trauma of war. She had seen men, women and children slain in their hundreds. Nothing compared to what she witnessed that night. She barely recognised her friend. Just small patches of white hair remained unstained with blood, and worse. It broke her.

She had asked Heric to teach her how to fight. When the leadership discovered they were livid, yet it took until near the end of the war before they made their decision and expelled her from the order on the pretext that she had stolen monies.

Strangely only days after they informed her of the expulsion, the Nunnery at Sovenza was razed by a handful of goblins. All the nuns were brutally violated before being cruelly murdered. Privately, some of the sisters (and even a reverend mother) confessed to Lera that even one sister, armoured and trained to fight, might have prevented the tragedy.

She retrieved her surcoat, and was about to don it when she noticed that it had become marred. The stain stretched across most of the fore-cloth, the light from the camp-fire embers too low for her see the mark clearly. She couldn’t work out how it had happened. She had placed the coat folded neatly into her pack like she always did. Perhaps griffon spoor had blemished it as she cared for the beast.

She considered returning it to her pack it until she could wash the cloth. Then she thought better of it. The cloth perfectly represented her current state. She was no longer pure or righteous. As for chastity, who knew what might happen. She bowed her head and draped the surcoat over her.

Lera walked the edge of the perimeter of their camp site, keeping a keen eye and ear out for any trouble. Not that she expected any. They hadn’t moved far from where they had fought the griffon. It was unlikely anything dangerous enough to harm them would be in the area. They had all been hunted down or driven off during the weeks the beast had remained trapped here.

She could hear the others sleeping. Falduin competed with Heric to see who could snore the loudest. Ifonsa’s breathing was quiet and rhythmic. Ganthe seemed unsettled. He groaned in pain.

Lera went to him, but as she drew close, he sprang into a crouch. She sensed rather than saw his knife in his hand.

“It is Lera,” she said to him.

“Don’t do that,” he hissed, and placed his knife away. He moaned.

“Are your ribs still troubling you?” she said kneeling beside him.

“I think one of them is broken.”

“No. Just badly bruised. Your jerkin did its job. Otherwise you would have been skewered by the claw.”

“It was the landing that did the damage. I slammed into the trunk.”

“In the morning I will see if I can find the ingredients to make a poultice, which will draw out the bruise. But for now, would you like me to tend to you again.”

“No. I can withstand the pain.”

“Very well,” Lera said, standing. “Sleep as well as you can.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember not to mess with Hawthorns.”

“Good. Lightning trees have long memories. Now rest.”

The dawn was especially glorious that morning. The sun had almost crested the Uplands, casting the clouds in shades of purple, salmon and orange. The breeze was cool and fresh with a hint of pine, wafting down from the hills above. Soon enough woodpeckers filled the air, as well as a smattering of finches and redstarts, darting about feasting.

It appeared to Lera, that word had spread about the griffon’s death. That the danger was over. She wondered how long before the wolves and other carnivores returned, and whether if she returned to the site in a week or a month whether there would be any trace of the griffon’s remains.

“What’s that?” Ganthe asked, sitting up. He pointed at the front of Lera’s surcoat.

She peered down at her garment. Now the light was better she could see the blemish. She wasn’t certain at first, so she removed the surcoat and held it up so she could see it properly. The design was crude, almost comical, but to her eye the blemish looked remarkably like an eagle, its wings outstretched with the head looking to the right side.

She flipped it around to show Ganthe, “What do you see?”

“An eagle?” he said. “Did you draw that?”

“I most certainly did not!” she spat.

“Then who did?”

Lera’s pointed gaze fell upon the still-sleeping form of Falduin.

She was livid. She prodded Falduin with her foot, “Did you do this?” she snarled, holding up the surcoat before him.

Falduin turned to face her, eyes blinking, but still unseeing.

“Did you do this?” she repeated.

“What?” he asked.

“This. Did you do this?”

He blinked at her, “Do what?”

“This!” She specifically pointed at the eagle so he couldn’t be mistaken what she was talking about.

“What?”

“This is not funny, Falduin. This garment is very important to me. It symbolises much that I hold dear. You had better hope that this, what ever you did to it, washes out.”

“I can’t draw,” he said.

“You don’t need to draw. You can use your magic.”

“No,” he said standing. He pointed at the eagle, “To do anything like this - and I can’t even conceive how that might be done - I would need to be able to draw. Even a full-fledged wizard can’t just magic up something from nothing. Very well, they can but it is extremely difficult, and have no such skill.”

“Then how did this happen? It was white when I packed it away last night, this morning it’s like this.”

“Lera,” it was Heric.

“What?” she said not taking her gaze off Falduin. She was certain it must be his doing.

“Lera, you’re forgetting one possibility,” Heric said. He reached out and cradled the fore-cloth in his hands, almost reverently.

“What?”

“It is a wonder,” he said smiling at her. “A blessing. For helping the griffon pass over. From The Gods.”

“The Gods can draw better than this. Plus they do not bless someone like me.”

“Why not?”

“I have been cast from my order. I am no longer a Sister of Axiom.”

“You are still a Priestess of Úlæ.”

“Nominally.”

“ Úlæ is sending you a message.”

“What message? Why?”

Ifonsa joined Heric appraising the surcoat. “It looks a little like those worn by The Eagle Knights,” she said. “Perhaps you are supposed to start a new order. Armed and armoured priestesses. The Sisters of Lera.”