Part 11

She was drifting in the early throes of sleep when his voice found her, "So when were you going to tell me that you're a virgin?" Ferruk's voice was enraged, and she rolled over to look up at him in surprise.

"I thought you knew. I'm an heiress, it's common knowledge that I have to be a virgin," she told him, confusion on her face and in her voice.

Mockingly, Ferruk parroted in a snide imitation of her voice, "I'm an heiress, it's common knowledge. Everybody in the world should have full knowledge and understanding of how my culture works because I'm so special!"

His voice went back to (angry) normal, and he continued, "Now I'm supposed to marry you so you can be important in the Horde and show all your little elf friends how you've managed to capture a high ranking orc, isn't that right?"

She stood up, facing him now. "Why Ferruk, that's the sweetest proposal I could possibly imagine, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no."

"Bullshit, I know you're trying to trap me into marrying you, making me take your virginity and then crying about how now you can never get married," he snarled.

"Well, first off, I don't remember shedding even one tear over no longer being able to get married," she told him, crossing her arms. "Further, Shantille is an outcast among my people because she married an orc. Maybe you think that that's only because she didn't marry your exalted self, huh? You're so much better than Groll that you, in your illustrious position of power and authority, can overcome centuries of my people's prejudice?"

"So now I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough to marry, is that the deal?" His scowl managed, by some accomplishment of facial contortion on his part, to deepen even further.

"No, actually. Now that you're back to being a complete fucking asshole, you're not good enough to marry or to fuck," she told him, and then sat down and started to get back into her bedroll. "If you're done now, the rest of us want to get some sleep."

"So you were just using me, then, just like I thought," he growled.

"You were just using me, too, Ferruk, we were just using each other. You didn't expect to marry me any more than I expected you to marry me," she said with a tired sigh. "We both wanted to feel good. And I did. Until now."

"Well, maybe I did," he said, "so now what do you have to say?"

"I say you're crazy. When you thought I wanted to marry you, you were furious. Now I say no I won't marry you, and you're still furious. How about you come talk to me again when you make up your fucking mind what you want and we can at least talk like intelligent people."

"I know what I want," he yelled.

"Well, then, what do you want?" she said reasonably.

"What if I said I did want you to marry me?" he replied.

"I already answered that. Not going to happen."

"Why not? Something wrong with me?" he growled.

"We barely know each other. Don't you think people should at least know each other before they do that?" she laid down on her bedroll and looked up at the stars. What a terrifically confounding man he was!

"We know each other well enough," he said defensively.

"Really?" she looked at him again, staring up into his eyes as he towered over her. "You don't even know whether or not I'm trying to trap you into a status marriage, but you're going to say that you know me? The fact that you could even make that accusation shows that you don't know me at all."

He sat down heavily beside her, from standing to sitting in a single falling motion. "I knew," he said.

"I would really like to get some sleep," she told him coldly and rolled onto her side away from him.

"Okay," he agreed, and started to lie down beside her.

"Alone," she said flatly.

He sighed and stood up, "We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Whatever."

He clomped away from her, and Nerissa shut her eyes. What the hell just happened?

Ferruk left her lying there, walking back out into the woods, trying to sort out his confusion. He hadn't thought about marrying her before Nantu's comment, but now the idea almost obsessed him. She'd given up the opportunity to marry any other man, to be with him. He knew she knew what she was doing.

Because sure, he might not know her completely, but he knew some things about her. She calculated risks and made decisions based on that. For all that she was spoiled, she wasn't impulsive, and she was spoiled by what she'd been taught, not by any basic nature or character flaw.

So why would she give up a lifetime of ever getting married for him, and then throw it away by saying no to him?

"Wut was ya doin?" Nantu asked, her voice sharp and lashing.

"I had to talk to her," he snarled defensively.

"That weren't talking, that were nastiness," she said, "ya ever dealed with a woman, ever? Ya actin' like a dumb teenager."

"I've dealt with women plenty," he said. "I know what to expect."

"Really? Coulda fooled me, Fe'ruk, cause ya go up ta her right aftah ya tosses her, an' ya accuse 'er of tryin' ta trap ya?" She made a tsking sound, and then continued, "That was cruel. Ya gonna be lucky if she evah forgives ya."

Ferruk sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, how was I supposed to find out if she was trying to trap me or not?"

"Ya really thought that? Ya really believed that? Ya honest'y tink she wants ta trap ya?" Nantu said chidingly.

Ferruk looked back at her form lying quiescent on her bedroll. "You said it would be a good marriage for her," he said accusingly.

"O' course it would be a good marriage fer her," Nantu said, "cause she don't fit da elfie way of life, Fe'ruk. Ya think she gonna be happy livin' da rest of her life in da Silvermoon, nevah again to see da battles or da fresh air of da wilds? Do ya think dat she gonna be happy with da way that da elfies live their lives? She comes ta know what freedom be like, sometink dat most elfies her social rank won't never know. And ya think dat she jus gonna run back an' start livin' that life again?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's only been a few days," he said, "it's not like she's even seen what it's really like."

"Don't matter none, Fe'ruk. She done unnerstood dat she kin live free. Dat she kin makes her own choices. Every'ting changed fer her already. Sometimes, don't take a lifetime ta change, Fe'ruk. Like yerself, you been one of da best mans I know. But now, you jus an asshole, like she done said many times." And Nantu walked away, her skirts swaying and waving in the wind beneath the heavy cloak.

A few feet away, she turned around and said, "I wunner, Fe'ruk. Has ya asked yerself what's da 'onorable thing ta do?" She didn't wait for an answer, just turned away and went back to camp.

No, he hadn't. What was the honorable thing to do? There really wasn't any official policy on it. Nothing in the Teachings. Sex with elves wasn't really covered. Sex with someone who would never be able to get married again after having sex with you wasn't covered, either. Indeed, the whole thing was pretty far out of his people's typical experiences.

Yet, the truth of the matter was that he was a Shaman, and it was his duty to solve situations like this—to figure out what the honorable thing was in situations not within the established bonds of the Teachings. He immediately thought that the right thing was to force her to marry him. On the heels of that was the sure and certain knowledge that he thought that because… he wanted that.

He tried to detach from the situation, to see it from someone else's point of view, as if someone had come to him with the issue instead of it being his own. At long last, the conclusion could be one thing, and one thing only. He had to find out what she wanted, before he could make any other decisions. If she truly didn't want to marry him, then accepting that was the honorable thing to do.

His gut twisted at the thought. What it meant was, when the day finally came, he'd have to let her go. He'd have to set her free. He'd have to watch her walk away. The realization was painful, sharp, and enervating. He slumped against a tree.

She'd already answered him. She didn't want to marry him. She'd just been using him to feel good. And from what Nantu said, maybe for more than that. Maybe she had used him to free herself from her social requirements. Now she could live whatever life she wished, albeit as somewhat of an outcast. She was no longer bound to marry and live as the Mistress of her house.

In a single act, she had set herself free from her social dynamics.

He sat down heavily on the ground, gulping for air. It wasn't personal, it had never been personal. She'd been using him, but not for what he thought. She even admitted it freely.

He tried to breathe against the pain the thought brought him. He looked up at the night sky, and once it would have comforted him in its grandiose beauty. The leaves of the trees as they swayed above him gave him a sort of comfort for his mind, but left his heart's hurt untouched.

Life, he thought as he looked out on the natural beauty around him, isn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to hurt so badly.

Whitecrow walked over and sat down beside Nerissa, much as Ferruk had done a brief few moments before. The ongoing drama between the two was depriving the others of sleep, leaving only Malovici unaffected—and he only because sleep was long since abandoned by the Forsaken.

"Want to talk about it?" the tauren asked her, rubbing absently at one of his horns.

"I don't know," she said, "I'm not even sure what just happened."

Whitecrow laughed. "Oh, that's easy. Ferruk had an orc moment."

To his pleasure, she giggled at him. "Is that all?" Then she sobered, "He was pretty hateful and cruel."

"Not really. I mean, he was rude, sure. But he did ask you, however hap-hazardly, to marry him. Most orcs don't get married, really. They kind of just enjoy sexual encounters, plan out children and have them for family reasons… and that's about the story of their lives from that aspect.

"When orcs marry, they marry for life. You don't find orcs that are divorced, or widowed and then remarry. It's a very, very serious proposition for them. As an elf, you have institutions such as divorce, but orc society doesn't even have a word for it. The only reason why there's a word for it in orcish at all is because of other races.

"And in point of fact, the word for divorce in orcish is actually the human word for it." Whitecrow felt that understanding the differences might help her to recognize the seriousness of the confrontation she'd just had with Ferruk.

"So what I'm trying to tell you, Nerissa, is that when he thought you might be trying to use him for social climbing by marrying him, he took it pretty seriously. There's really no social comparison to the seriousness of the act of abusing marriage for personal gain if one person loves the other, among orcs. It's not just dishonorable; it's a family stain. If any orc did such a thing, their own family would hunt them down and butcher them as cruelly and painfully as possible."

"Why are you telling me this, Whitecrow? I don't want to marry him, I only just found out what it's like to be able to be at least somewhat my own person." She rolled onto her back, looking up at the stars above her. "I just came to realize that I won't live forever. A long time, maybe, but not forever. A few thousand years suddenly seems like such a small amount of time."

She looked at Whitecrow again, and he felt a sense of sorrow as the fire touched her with a golden glow. She seemed so young to him right in that moment, so innocent and confused. She continued, unaware of his thoughts, "I want to live my life this way. I just realized that I'm good at this. I'm good at fighting. I like riding now that I know how to do it properly.

"I even like spending time with you guys. It's all so simple and uncomplicated. Well, except Ferruk. I'm pretty sure he could put about any elf to shame with his bizarre, complex behavior." She sighed, and in a gesture surprisingly akin to the one Whitecrow was so used to seeing Ferruk do, she rubbed her palm across her face as if to chase the confusion away with a gesture. "I want that simplicity. I want to make choices. I want to ride, to look at the land, to have people that I could almost believe are really friends around me."

Whitecrow was flattered by her statement, by her recognition of at least him as a friend. He was fairly sure that Nantu also counted her as a friend already. And although she was a singularly annoying friend, prideful, arrogant, and still rather self-indulgent… she at least showed that she was trying and she wanted to be a good friend.

"So you did use him just to end your virginity so that you couldn't be forced into an unwanted marriage?" he asked.

"Oh, Deities no," she laughed. "That's absurd. Jin was here, if I just wanted to get rid of my virginity, I could have just asked him. He would have been thrilled beyond words to get that opportunity."

"Why'd you tell him that you were just using him, then?" Whitecrow asked, running his hand down his muzzle.

"Why not? He accused me of just baiting a trap with my body. Of course, I've been taught how to do that, and if I'd wanted to, I certainly could have. He's only what, 25—"

"28," Whitecrow corrected her.

"Well, okay, so he's only 28. I think a lot of people see my face, and they think I'm younger by far than I really am," she went on, while Whitecrow winced from having thought exactly that a few minutes prior.

"You've been really sheltered," Whitecrow said. "That generally creates a certain naivety."

"Yes, it does, I recognize that. But naivety about men, about seduction? No, my friend. My mother has taught me very, very well how to use my body to get what I want without ever having to complete the promise. She has taught me how to stand on the edge of sexuality and dance there indefinitely. She has taught me a great deal about how men think and what men expect and want. What kind of men to use, what kind to avoid, and how to do so." Her face looked sad, but certain.

"But she didn't teach you about love, did she?" He knew he had correctly discerned the heart of the matter when she stared bleakly into the fire and said nothing.

"Love is not for us, Whitecrow. We're elves, and love is a weakness that preys on the mind like an addiction. In the past, the elves loved, but the end results were always tragic. Death, loss, regret, revenge… there seems to be no shortage of people who suffer from love. There are so few who thrive in love that they are nearly nonexistent." Her face was still sad, and rather drawn.

He reached out and took her hand in his. "Love isn't about the way it ends, Nerissa. That's why your people shun it, because of how it ends. It seems very strange that a people so long lived would fail to understand that love's about the journey, not about the end—"

His words were cut off as he was actually lifted bodily to his feet, and shoved several feet by one very, very angry orc.

"What're you doing?" Ferruk snarled at Whitecrow.

Whitecrow, finally fed up with his friend's behavior, reached up between Ferruk's hands and forcibly knocked them off of his breastplate. "I'm talking to my friend," he snapped.

"Your friend? Just a friend, holding hands and looking at each other all lovey like that?" Ferruk was still snarling, stepping forwards towards Whitecrow.

Nerissa stood up and stepped towards them, but Nantu caught her and pulled her back. She said softly, "Nothin' you can or should do now, Nerissa, dis 'tween dem two now. Ferruk done pushed too hard fer no reason, an' Whitecrow gots da right ta make him answer fer dat."

Nerissa subsided, stepping away from the two men. It would have been clear to either of them that she resented the whole episode, had either looked at her. But they were both caught up in the anger seething beneath the surface.

"You've been unbearable since she arrived. You know perfectly well that I have no interest in her. Your petty jealousy is ridiculous on both counts, hers and mine," Whitecrow said, hoping that he could talk sense into the shaman before the inevitable fight broke out between them.

"I don't care if you've been celibate for years. That doesn't mean that you intend to stay that way," Ferruk growled, and a totem dropped to the ground, followed by another and another, four in total. "You want her, but you have to go through me."

"What about her feelings? They don't matter at all?" Whitecrow asked.

"This is about our friendship. You don't move in on someone that you know your friend cares for," Ferruk yelled. "It's you betraying my friendship, not her!"

"Malovici's right, you're acting like a bitch in heat," Whitecrow said. He was finally starting to get really really angry with Ferruk. "I am her friend, nothing more. I have no interest in her beyond that."

"You're lying, you like elves, and we all know it!"

"You're wrong," Whitecrow said, "I only love one certain elf, and she's not a blood elf!"

"She's a whore," Ferruk snarled, forgetting himself in his rage at what he saw as his friend's betrayal.

Whitecrow's axe and shield sprang into his hands. Steam literally began to rise from him as sweat broke through his fur. "You take that back, you fucker," he growled. He saw red as Ferruk shook his head.

Whitecrow lost the control he'd retained over his emotions, and roared, the shock of his rage slapping Ferruk with physical intensity. The massive axe bit into Ferruk's enchanted chain armor, drawing blood on the first strike. As Whitecrow smelled the coppery tinge of blood, he threw his head back and felt the fury rise in him.

He forgot that this was his friend. He forgot that they'd been traveling together for years. He forgot everything but the words spoken, which should never have been said, 'she's a whore.'

His rage grew, and the axe flew through the air with a singing 'whoosh,' only to be ducked by Ferruk. The orc moved back, surprised at the vehemence of the tauren's attack. Whitecrow stalked forward, his hooves reverberating against the hard ground. He again swung the axe, and this time it sliced across the front of Ferruk's mail tunic, knocking Ferruk's breath from his chest, "You," Whitecrow grunted, "take," and the shield slapped Ferruk's mace away like it was nothing, "that," a step forward, and the shield crushed into Ferruk's face, "back!"

Ferruk grunted, tasting blood. He snarled and pushed forwards, looping a single blow under Whitecrow's arm, landing it in the vulnerable joint at the armpit. Whitecrow barely paused, and his axe swung through the air again. Although Ferruk managed to duck, it sliced his ear in half. Blood rushed from the wound, exiting his body in a sharp arch like a sparkling red firecracker.

Whitecrow laughed as he saw the cut in Ferruk's ear. He wanted to hurt this man for his callous words; he wanted to hurt him for his false claims. He no longer cared that it was his friend. The rampaging bull replaced the calm and placid bovine. Gone was the civility of tauren life, the thin veneer that helped all tauren to control the wild beast that lived inside.

The beast that won the battle for control whenever the tauren were threatened. And whether that threat was friend or foe mattered not at all to this rising tide of rage inside Whitecrow. He stunned Ferruk again, and landed another blow, this time nicking Ferruk on the nose as his helm bent beneath the massive axe.

Blood flew again, a tiny blossoming arc of red droplets, slurped up by the breeze like a thirsty sailor with a splash of booze. Whitecrow laughed again as the lust and rage he felt took in the beauty of the blood it craved.

Ferruk landed several blows of his own, finally turning to his magic as his melee proved to be unsuccessful in bringing any significant harm to his foe. A brilliant arc of lightning struck Whitecrow as Ferruk muttered the incantation. It lit up the night, wreathing Whitecrow in a brilliant white aura for an instant.

Whitecrow merely grunted as the painful blast assailed him. Ferruk, irritated, called on fire then. Except that it refused to come… the fire was silent and would not answer his call. One by one, Ferruk called to the elements. Each failed him. Even the lightning would not return.

Whitecrow's axe bit into him again. Then again. Now blood ran freely down his chest, and he was limping badly. He pulled out a new totem, and it dropped the ground, forlorn without its glow of power. It did nothing, lying there, inert and unresponsive. He reached for a Heal, and was met by silence.

Another powerful blow from Whitecrow and Ferruk was pushed back by the massive shield the other man held, staggering. Stars flickered in front of his eyes, and he staggered.

At last, defeated both by the increasing pain as more and more blows struck him, and by the departure of the blessing of the Elements, Ferruk sank to one knee. "I yield, I yield!" he cried.

It seemed that Whitecrow was too far gone in his rage and didn't care. The heavy axe hit Ferruk again, slamming into his helm with enough force to make the helm ring with a reverberating and sharp 'clang!' Ferruk fell over, catching himself with one arm. Whitecrow's arms lifted as he dropped the shield and prepared for a finishing blow with his axe.

"Take it," Whitecrow snarled, the whites around his liquid brown eyes standing stark against his black fur, "back!" He panted and trembled, looking for all the world like he wanted Ferruk to refuse to do so, that the axe might find its way free to taste his blood a final time.

"I'm sorry, Whitecrow, I should have never said that. There's no excuse for ever saying that," Ferruk remained on his knee, barely holding himself up.

Whitecrow roared again, a bestial, tormented sound, and lowered the axe slowly. Finally, he threw it at Ferruk's feet, as if to say, 'You did this,' about the blood on it.

Nantu picked up the top tip of Ferruk's left ear and handed it to him. "Ho'd it up so's I can mend it," she told him. Ferruk took it and threw it into the fire.

"Heal it the way it is," he grunted. "It will remind me of who my real friends are for the rest of my life."

Nantu Healed him, and then Whitecrow, who now sat by the fire, as if to warm his hooves. Nerissa ignored Ferruk completely and went immediately to Whitecrow. "Are you okay?" He nodded. She sighed and squeezed his hand, "I'm so sorry."

He covered her hand with his other one, "Not your fault, Nerissa. This is Ferruk's fault to bear."

Nerissa nodded and sighed. "Still…" she said, and Whitecrow knew what she meant. However directly or indirectly, it had been about her, which made her feel somehow responsible.

"Your lady?" she asked, as if afraid to probe too deeply about it.

He shook his head as she sat down to listen to him talk, "It's nothing, really. Your typical impossible, unrequited love."

"That makes you an odd one to talk to me about love then, I think," Nerissa said, then realized her rudeness and started to apologize.

Whitecrow held up his hand to quiet her, and said only, "It makes me infinitely qualified, Nerissa. For I know the terrible pain that love can bring, yet I know the joy of it, too. And I know for certain that the joy of it makes every instant of the pain exquisitely bearable." He turned his soft, warm, sad eyes on her. "Don't let a minute go to waste."

She just looked at him, not sure what to say. She thought about his words for some time, as she wrapped her arms around her knees and looked into the fire.

A few minutes later, Ferruk joined them. He was much subdued as he sat down beside Whitecrow. "I'm sorry, old friend. I know you're right, I've not been treating anyone well. Of all people, I should know that you'd be the last to…"

Whitecrow nodded without speaking, letting Ferruk continue as Nerissa got up and walked away. "Please forgive me, I don't know what got into me that I would say such a terrible thing."

Ferruk sat in miserable silence as Whitecrow continued to watch the fire. Ferruk began to feel that he had lost his friend until Whitecrow finally spoke, "Why don't you make amends for it? That would really mean something, more than mere words."

Ferruk frowned, "What do you want from me?"

"Start treating her with respect. Like she's a person, not a possession or a child, but a real, bona fide, dyed in the wool person." Whitecrow's eyes met Ferruk's and Ferruk actually felt his face begin to burn with embarrassed shame.

"I'll do the best I can," he told Whitecrow.

Whitecrow nodded, "As long as that's a hell of a lot better than you're doing now," he told Ferruk grimly. "Because you just don't seem to get it. You're never going to woo her the way you're treating her."

Ferruk started to say that he didn't want to woo her, but Whitecrow shook his head, a look of disappointment crossing his face. Ferruk sighed and returned to looking into the fire. "Ferruk, being honest with yourself would be a good start, then follow that up with being honest with the rest of us. By that time, maybe you can be honest with her, too."

Ferruk looked back to where she'd moved her bedroll. She and Nantu had started a second fire, as if to get away from him. He cringed at the thought, and acknowledged that it was almost certainly the reality of the situation. Was he in love with her? Suddenly, he wondered that he even needed to ask himself that question.

Of course he was. He was in love and dangerously jealous and possessive. This was why his connection to the Elements was gone. He had abused them, and he still felt that terrible possessiveness. Until he could love her and let her be free, too, they would never answer his call.

The problem was, he had no idea how to go about that.


Jebbik the goblin bowed before Prince Veebex. "You called for me, my prince?"

Veebex nodded, "I understand that you've come under agreement with a certain elf by the name of Chalisse Mequa Trasamme?"

Jebbik bowed again, "Yes, my prince, I have."

"Did she request a surety, Jebbik?"

"No, my prince, she did not," Jebbik told the powerful Trade Prince.

"Excellent. We have come under a new agreement then. The new agreement requires that she be alive. The new buyer has specified nothing beyond 'alive,' and is paying three times the price. He has requested a surety, so of course, we shall be required to deliver or repay the down payment.

"I assume that you will not fail me in this," Trade Prince Veebex said.

"We will deliver her within hours of locating her, my prince," Jebbik said before his small green legs rushed him out of the room and on his way towards Howling Fjord, where a most excellent prize awaited him.

He rubbed his hands together delightedly when he left the room… triple! He could barely keep the glee out of his face as he went to tell his little band of ragtag mercs that their reward had doubled, so long as the quarry were alive and delivered to Veebex instead of Chalisse.


The next day found the group tense and riding west again. The tension between Ferruk and Whitecrow had eased, but a new and colder distance had arisen between Ferruk and Nerissa. It rapidly became clear to him that she wasn't just riding a distance from him, but was actively avoiding him.

He rode towards her, she rode away. He slowed down, she sped up. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she hadn't been avoiding him so actively, but one thing was for sure… he wanted to do something to repair what he'd destroyed.

He recognized that although she could be difficult, he couldn't pass off his responsibility in the whole thing. She was definitely spoiled, and could be rude and insensitive. He, on the other hand, was supposed to be a leader of his people, and he was acting like an adolescent boy with his first crush.

He remembered the first time he'd dealt with an angry, possessive young orc in the throes of sexual addiction to an orc girl. He'd explained the fact that each person was their own individual self, with the right to choose and select a mate—no matter how much one person might want them to select him (or her).

The poor fellow had been back a couple of weeks later, having gotten himself badly beaten by the woman in question. That had worked well to put him in his place, and he had allowed her the freedom she wanted from that point onwards.

But not Ferruk. No, he had made everything worse, instead. Rather than stop pushing, he'd pushed harder. Instead of trusting his friend, he had attacked him. Instead of… well, instead of any honorable action at all, he'd been every bit the asshole she'd accused him of being.

Now he rode entirely alone. The rest of the group was there, but they had all withdrawn from him. The elements had left him. And his behavior had been bad enough to have him named outcast by his clan, should anyone learn of it. To do the honorable thing, he should simply accept his outcast status.

So that was what he decided to do. If he couldn't control his behavior, then he could recognize the dishonor he'd brought to himself and willingly give up his status and his standing in the clan. It was the right thing to do, regardless of anything else. No man should be a shaman, or a clan's spiritual advisor when he couldn't even control his own base impulses.

He could never ask another to take his advice when he was a complete failure in his own life and emotions.

It was devastating to him, and he felt the crushing weight of the decision on his soul. All of his life, he'd aspired to be a shaman. All of his life, he had aspired to attain oneness with the elements. As a child, he'd spent hours daydreaming of the people he'd teach, the lives he would shape, the honor and the glory of living a spiritually attained life.

He had been friends with Whitecrow for all of his adult life, and longer. He'd sacrificed much for his friend, for his training, for the life he'd chosen.

And in the space of just a few days, he'd ruined it all. The gravity, the misery, of what he'd done finally sank into him. It went well beyond simply fighting with a friend or yelling at a woman. The elements had abandoned him because he had sacrificed his spiritual life for a chance to control and constrain another person.

There was no help for it, either. Nothing he could do about it at all. And here he was, stuck in a terrible mess. He could no longer protect Nerissa. The sick, sad truth twisted in him. He was not fit as a shaman. He was not fit as a man. He was not fit as a spiritual advisor to even the demons. And he was not fit as a guardian to the woman that he now realized he loved.

The day wore on as he suffered the internal diatribe that chastised him for his mistakes, for his failings, for his terrible dishonor.

He would have to tell them, and he would have to leave. That's what he would do that evening when they camped. He would tell them and then he would leave; he would let them find their way without the dangerous burden of a useless, broken-down husk of a former shaman.

His life, his dreams… both were done. Shattered into a million pieces of brittle, sharp mirror that taunted him with the image of a coward; a failure; a half-man, half-beast destroyer.

Once, he had spoken to others of honor and glory. Now, he had no right to speak to anyone of it.