Camphor felt the ring start swallowing him up again. His obligation to his duties as a Maker had been fulfilled and he... he was its again. He fought. He railed against it. But it was to no avail. It sucked him down as he trudged up the hill back towards the mansion, eating away at every drive he wanted to have, until it dominated him, drowned him, scratched out every sense of self he ever had. He had the idea that if he went willingly, he might possibly retain some sense of self throughout, but he wasn't about to give in. He didn't want this. He didn't support this, and if she was going to make his life miserable because of it, so be it. He'd fight her tooth and nail until this was through. Because he didn't want it.

Feivel untangled himself from where he'd fallen asleep in Janice's tent, moving silently as he could manage in the dim dawning light. He dressed quickly and buckled on his swords before leaning down to brush the long black curls out of her face.

She really was beautiful. And she was too good to be burdoned with the worries she felt out here. If he could make things easier to bear for her, he'd do it.

His Lady, though, was not happy with him.

She had insisted last night that Janice was off-limits. But Janice would know that better, wouldn't she? The Oracle would know what she'd need to get through the times ahead and... Okay, so he felt terrible about it now, and he'd have to go up to her temple after this giant expedition was sorted out so he could smooth things over with her. But that would have to wait.

He threw back the tent flap and stared at the arrow pointed right at his face.

"You trespass," the tribesman snarled, purple feathers blowing in the early morning wind, the coyote hood of the tribe defenders on his forehead.

Feivel blinked, one hand going to his sword, the other gently nudging the tip of the arrow out of his face. "I'm working," he answered in their native tongue.

The defender's arrow snapped back to aim at his face. "Traitor," he snarled. "Do not speak a word, or you'll be fixed to the cloth of your tent."

Feivel was yanked aside as another coyote-hooded defender snapped the tent open. All around him, defenders entered the tents and roused the girls and women to screams and yelps that were quickly silenced. Feivel counted them as they appeared, and he was greatly relieved to see all of them. Even out on the plains, Kendra and the horses were being herded in, the saa more concerned with Janice's well-being than anything.

And speaking of Janice, she was hauled half-naked into the growing sunlight, her black curls tangling as the defender shoved her out of the tent.

The defender whose arrow was at his face raised his eyebrows at her. "Sharing your tent with a Those That Stay?" He spat on the ground by her feet. "And an ugly one, at that."

"Bring me to the chief," he snarled.

"You lost your feathers. You are lower than the lowest Those That Stayed that poison our children and featherkeepers. You are in no position to make demands."

Feivel's hand went to his shirtcollar, where he yanked out the two cords fastened there. The feathers and rings clattered against the silver whistle, and he pushed the arrow out of his face again, this time more forcefully. "Bring us to the chief," he snarled. "Or with my dying breath, I'll scatter the herds."

The coyote-hood scoffed and lowered his bow. He motioned to his comrades to herd the women in. "Get the horses," he spat. "But try anything, and I'll gore your ugly Those That Stayed." He grabbed Janice by the arm, and Feivel felt a twist in his gut as he placed the whistle between his lips.

He should have listened to his Lady.

Velma talked as she walked, leading Faline calmly out of the study and down several halls to what she would have guessed was a bedroom, except that there was no furniture. Instead, there were several pedastols bearing glittering jewels inscribed with runes and symbols.

"Your friend, Camphor," she said warmly. "I've seen his type before."

Faline stared at her. "And?" she prompted.

"And my family has been waiting for ages for him in particular to arrive."

"What?" she managed.

Velma smiled sweetly, but Faline knew the same psychopath was under that charming demeanor. "We have been told not to leave this mountain until the jewel of the Spring Green Pendant turned from black to green, and that we are to accompany those who arrived with this change. That was five hundred years ago, and it was because of us that this town grew up, though my family grew out of power for a long time, until I came of age. Still... Who is he? What is he doing here?"

Faline couldn't stop staring - at her, at the Spring Green Pendant, and the jewels all around her (more than she'd seen all spread out across her lifetime) - and couldn't quite manage to choke out an answer. "What?" she finally managed.

"I--"

"No," she laughed. "You want to know anything about Camphor, you ask Camphor. I am not doing this." She shook her head and started to walk out.

"Faline," Velma called sweetly, kindly. "Please? I know his kind. I know they're not inclined to answer when they are the way he is."

"How do you know his kind?" Faline asked, her hand on the door.

"My third husband..." she said sadly. "Fate pulled him down the mountain and onto the swords of invaders. She used him to pull the men down from the mountain to go to war. I know how they get."

Faline sighed and rested her hand against the door. She closed her eyes, then slammed it open and stormed into the hall.

"Somehow I doubt that," she snarled as she left.