Torren and Rokkar reached the ridge above the Painted Dogs valley late in the afternoon.
The climb back had taken longer than the journey west. Snow had begun gathering along the shaded cracks between the rocks, and the wind coming down from the higher peaks had grown colder with each passing hour. Winter had not yet reached the valleys below, but in the mountains its presence could already be felt.
Torren stopped near the edge of the ridge.
From there the entire camp was visible.
The Painted Dogs valley spread beneath them in a narrow bowl of stone and pine. Smoke drifted upward from cooking fires. People moved between shelters made from timber frames and stretched hides. Children ran across the open ground between the fires while several warriors practiced with spears near the edge of the camp.
From above it looked almost peaceful.
Rokkar stepped beside him and looked down.
"Still standing," he muttered.
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
They began descending the narrow trail toward the valley floor.
The watchers saw them first.
Two young warriors sitting on a rock outcrop above the camp noticed movement on the slope and stood immediately. One of them raised his voice.
"Rokkar!"
The shout echoed across the valley.
Several heads turned.
Torren saw people pointing toward the path as he and Rokkar continued walking down the slope. A few of the younger fighters started jogging toward them even before they reached the bottom.
By the time they entered the camp, a small crowd had already formed.
"Well?" one of the warriors asked.
"Did the crows listen?"
Rokkar shrugged.
"They didn't kill us."
That drew a few laughs.
Another warrior leaned forward.
"So they're coming?"
Torren answered before Rokkar could.
"Yes."
The mood shifted immediately.
"How many?" someone asked.
Torren shook his head.
"They didn't give a number."
Rokkar added calmly,
"But they'll bring fighters."
The group murmured to each other.
Torren could already see the news spreading across the camp as people turned and called to others nearby.
He didn't stay there long.
Instead he walked toward the center of the camp where the largest fire burned.
The chief stood there with several of the older warriors. Harrag was not among them yet.
The chief noticed Torren approaching and fell silent.
"You're back sooner than I thought," he said.
Torren nodded.
"They agreed."
The chief crossed his arms.
"And where do we meet them?"
Torren pointed toward the eastern ridges.
"There's a narrow pass beyond the pine ridge. It drops straight toward the valleys."
The chief frowned slightly.
"You chose the place?"
"Yes."
For a moment the chief did not speak.
He turned toward Rokkar.
"You let him pick the ground?"
Rokkar shrugged.
"He knows the mountains."
The chief looked back at Torren.
"That pass is tight."
"Two men wide."
The chief thought about that.
Then he gave a short nod.
"Good place."
One of the older warriors nearby grunted in agreement.
The chief raised his voice.
"Everyone!"
The call carried across the camp.
People began gathering quickly. Warriors came first, followed by others who wanted to hear what had been decided.
Harrag arrived moments later, pushing through the forming circle.
His eyes went first to Torren.
"You made it back."
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
Harrag turned to the chief.
"And?"
The chief spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"The Stone Crows will join us."
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Some warriors grinned openly.
Others tightened their grip on their weapons.
The chief continued.
"We meet them in three days."
He pointed toward the mountains.
"East ridge. Narrow pass above the valleys."
Several of the older warriors nodded.
They knew the ground.
The chief lifted his hand again.
"We leave tomorrow."
That statement brought louder reactions.
A few warriors laughed in anticipation. Others immediately began talking about weapons and supplies.
"Prepare tonight," the chief said. "Everything."
He looked across the gathered fighters.
"Take what you can carry. Nothing more."
The meeting ended quickly after that.
Painted Dogs did not waste time once a decision had been made.
Harrag placed his hand on Torren's shoulder.
"You told them where to meet."
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
Harrag looked toward the eastern peaks.
"That pass is good ground."
Torren shrugged.
"I've used it before."
Harrag studied him for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Come."
Their shelter stood near the edge of the camp beneath a group of old pine trees.
Inside, Harrag opened a wooden chest and began pulling out equipment.
Two axes.
A leather harness.
A dented iron helm that had clearly survived many winters.
Torren sat near the entrance and began sharpening one of the blades.
The slow scraping of steel against stone filled the shelter.
Harrag worked quietly for several minutes before speaking again.
"You saw the Stone Crows chief yourself?"
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
"And?"
"He listened."
Harrag grunted.
"That's better than most chiefs."
Torren finished sharpening the blade and wiped it clean with a piece of cloth.
Outside the shelter the camp had become louder.
People were preparing for war.
Torren stepped outside again as evening approached.
The valley had changed completely.
Warriors moved everywhere.
Some repaired armor straps. Others checked shields or tested the balance of their weapons. A group of younger fighters argued loudly over who would carry extra arrows during the raid.
The air smelled of leather, smoke, and iron.
Torren walked slowly through the camp watching the preparations.
Near one of the fires several women worked together repairing torn furs.
Among them were women taken from the valleys years earlier.
At first they had been captives.
Over time many had become something else.
Some now spoke the mountain tongue as easily as the clan women. Others still carried traces of the valley accent when they spoke.
One of them noticed Torren watching.
Mara.
She stood and brushed her hands against her dress.
"You're going down again," she said.
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
She glanced toward the warriors preparing their weapons.
"This time with more fighters."
"Yes."
She looked at him carefully.
"You've grown."
Torren blinked.
"That happens."
She smiled slightly.
Behind her two small children ran between the shelters carrying carved sticks as if they were swords.
Torren pointed toward them.
"Yours?"
Mara nodded.
"Yes."
"They run like mountain children."
She shrugged.
"They've never known anything else."
Torren watched the children for a moment.
Some of them had the darker hair of the valleys.
Others had the rough mountain look of the clans.
But none of them seemed to notice the difference.
They simply played.
Torren turned away.
Night came slowly to the Painted Dogs valley.
The fires burned brighter as the cold deepened.
Warriors continued preparing their equipment beneath the flickering light. A few of the older men gathered near the central fire where the chief spoke quietly with Harrag and the other experienced fighters.
Torren sat near one of the outer fires watching the camp.
Everything felt different now.
Tomorrow they would begin moving toward the pass.
In three days the mountains would descend into the valleys.
Torren leaned back and looked toward the sky.
Above the dark peaks a golden eagle circled silently in the cold air.
And far below those mountains, the valleys still slept—unaware of what was coming.