The baby was born amidst screaming and blood. A battle raged in the camp, a night attack from the hills. Men and women screamed, fought and died. Merina, hair a tangled mess, lay with the newborn Karena on her chest. Tired after their own ordeal, they both slept.

The tent flap was thrown back and two men stopped short. They stared at the peaceful woman and child. Creeping to the bed, the taller, Garedal, lifted the child, who opened her eyes, but did not fuss. They gazed at each other, measuring, judging. Terian, on the other side of the bed, slit the woman’s throat. Garedal looked down, her eyes were open, staring at him in death.

“No survivors, no mercy.” Terian quoted their orders.

“I know.”

“Kill it, it’s just a girl.”

“No.”

Terian lunged for Karena, but Garedal held her high and backed away. The warriors glared at each other, the sounds of battle dying away in their ears. They circled the tent, stalking each other. One with murder boiling his blood, the other had a mother’s dying eyes haunting his soul. A sudden silence followed by a raucous cheer distracted them from their quarrel.

“It’s over, let it be.” Garedal sheathed his sword.

“You are weak.” Terian ripped the tent flap open and stormed away.

“But not heartless, brother.” He followed, catching up a blanket to wrap the babe in and secure it to his back.

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