Then all sensations blurred
and faded. A silent blackness engulfed him, and he was no more.
The two dark wolves, the guard of Shar-hai, stepped back in bloody
triumph, howling their defiance to the skies. Yet slowly the stir of
the kill was dispersed, and the birds in the willows sang untroubled.
***
Kalus had been awake for almost an hour. He had risen to find the wolf
gone, but gave it little thought. Akar had his own life to live as
well, and he had not failed to note his companion's dark mood the
night before. He could not fully reason its source, but knew that it
must be something fairly serious. For the wolves were stoic and
infinitely survivable creatures, who rarely let emotion get the best of
them. Returning from the smaller enclosure with the four poles and his
sword, Kalus thought back to the day of his banishment, and realized for
the first time that Akar's gesture of submission in the
cave---rolling over in the dirt---had not been a plea for mercy. . .but
an act of acceptance. An acceptance of death. He shook his head at the
irony, though the word meant nothing to him. He had no regrets.
He sat down on a stone inside the entrance and worked quietly and
steadily, peeling long strips of bark from the poles, to use along with
the strands of rabbit fur, to bind them together into a frame.
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