The deadline passed without a rider, and N'varu felt the basin hold its breath the way ground does before a rockfall.
Zaira paced along the southern stones, claws scraping a shallow groove into rock that had not moved in a thousand years.
'She wants to run north and tear the border down herself,' N'varu thought, watching her tail lash once against the dark, 'though every hour we hold her here costs her something I cannot repay.'
Kun Nakia's ridge fires burned brighter than the previous night, a sign her officers read as patience and N'varu read as preparation.
A Sandshade scout dropped low beside him, breath ragged, and said, "I think her front line is moving stones off the ridge path, sir."
N'varu asked, jaw tight, "Toward us or away?"
"Toward," the scout said, already turning to point, "she's clearing a straight run down into the basin, and I don't like the pace of it."
N'varu looked past the scout toward the fires and felt the shape of Kun Nakia's patience finally end.
