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He pours hi and pretends not to have heard o to read the firebones It is custom for the drakeslayers to bear the bones I expect you will observe this custom at least?”

—

That night, in the son, the Children of the Spires, last of Ragnar’s people, throw one hell of a party for the dying sun

They light a great bonfire of dragon fat and reat hunks of flesh are roasted on long skewers and served ild tubers,passed out by a stout Obsidian man with no nose

Freihild and I are given fresh necklaces of dragon’s teeth to ree of co from Valdir’s conservative cohort, but not Valdir himself

As the Obsidians feast and laugh, Ozgard leads a troupe of braves wearing masks made from the bones of sacred tribal creatures They pretend they are ice sprites, dropping little diaold behind ears The warriors wheel about, trying to catch the sprites, only to snag eht, the sprites must drink until their captor is satisfied I catch three, including poor Gudkind, and send the to pass out by the fire Sprawled on furs, Electra listens to Obsidian veterans tell stories about their days with the Goblin Pax bickers back and forth in Nagal with one of Sefi’s warchiefs about the strategic necessity of his father using the Storht-headed fro, and satiated by the meat from the hunt I’ve not felt this tranquil in years

There is a joy here A sense of eternal family, with no worry of the world that seeks to destroy them They are home and free

Is this what it is like to be them?

Mars is not what I expected—neither Olympia nor the Ice It is simpler here, sure But my mind is quieter without the peripheral madness of Hyperion There the current de to define your own essence, to rise above the human rivers in the street, or be drowned under them

Here you can simply be

I wish I could give this to Volga Poor girl has always feared her own people, what they would think of her birth, but maybe she would find this to be the ho for

Hell, part of ain, ith her faood spirits that I wish even Xenophon could share in the feast The poor creature is always standing to the side, never included unless Sefi needs information or a task fulfilled Not that Xenophon seems to mind

This war It will not last, not the night, not the celebration, not the hunt, not my friendship with the Obsidians, nor Ciive thee of the mine profits, chase the Red Hand north, buttill the Reds resent theea feels the power balance shift?

In the nar will absorb us and lift off Then back to Olyovernment Valdir to his hunt of the Red Hand The children to their lessons and grim future

Me to being me