Rilvuldra's funeral was held the day after her death.

It was noon, but no sun shone in the sky; the iron grey clouds of winter blotted it out and dusted the ground with its white snow, as if it too were mourning the death of a woman that had been so beloved by her people in life. Villagers that were able to walk gathered around the pyre, wrapped up in their warm fur cloaks, to say their goodbyes one last time.

Rilvuldra's body had wasted away so much that she weighed next to nothing. Leravacha had wrapped her in white and laid her upon the funeral pyre herself; she carried her the same way she had carried her on their wedding day ten years ago. Cheiftain's were not meant to weep. To weep was a sign of weakness, and weakness was forbidden upon the Drangok's rulers. That was simply tradition.

Leravacha never cried. Tears would not make a person come back to them, as her father had told her when her mother had died when she was seven. Her father loved her very much, and had wanted her and her older brother and younger sister to be strong.

But on this day, and this day alone, silent tears streamed down Leravacha's face.

It would be the last day that she ever cried in her life, for the tears she wept on that day held the entirety of her heart's love in their watery souls. She had no longer had any more to give; no longer held any tears to shed.

When the pyre was lit, a tail of smoke flew into the air, as if it too were escaping this cruel and horrid world that it had been forced into. The crackling orange fire was hot upon their cold faces. Leravacha's hand clenched into a fist.

"Her soul returns to Lord Cheimon now...," Hakrynsif whispered. She clasped the medallion around her neck and squeezed her eyes shut. "I am so sorry, Leravacha. Please forgive me-"

Leravacha suddenly turned around and clasped her sister in a bone crushing embrace. Hakrynsif tensed up, her eyes widening. Her sister never hugged her.

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Hakrynsif," Leravacha choked. "It isn't your fault and you know it." She held her sister tight. "I love you. Rilvuldra loved you. You are not at fault here, and do not think for even a second that you are."

Hakrynsif sniffled. She returned her sister's touch, resting her head on Leravacha's shoulder. "Thank you...Chieftain."

Leravacha slowly let go. She wiped Hakrynsif's eyes and smiled sadly. She turned back around to the burning pyre. Isendir slowly walked over to her.

"You never know how precious that little thing you have is until it's gone," the Chieftain whispered softly. She wiped her eyes and sighed. "I knew the day that I met her that she was the one. She was too perfect for this world. I was never meant to be Chieftain." Leravacha shook her head. "My elder brother, Zairyk was destined for that. But he was exiled from our tribe shortly before my father died, leaving me next in line. Father was supportive of me, despite the fact that I would never have an heir. But Hakrynsif is a smart girl...I would feel comfortable with her as Chieftain, and I think father would too."

"You're a strong woman, Chieftain," Isendir said after a while. The orange flames were reflected in his brown eyes. "You can lead your people out of this, and of that I have no doubt."

Leravacha smiled at him. "Of course I can. Rilvuldra would be so disappointed in me to see me fall and grow weak because of her passing. I can't do that to her." She beat her fist over her heart. "I am Leravachainisyilliad Zindidre, and I am Chieftain here. I have a job to do, and I damn well plan on finishing it until the last breath I ever take leaves my body. But...I will always yearn for the day when I can see her again...."

The two fell silent. After so long, the wind started to pick up and the gathered crowd started to dissipate, the people going to the warmth of their homes to mourn the loss of their own family in private. Leravacha dismissed Isendir and the rest of the companions, and sent Hakrynsif along her way as well. The Chieftain remained standing there, alone, until the body on the pyre was only ash.

Even after that, she lingered behind, gazing blankly at the ashes. The wind began to gently scatter them across the sands. As she looked, she thought that she could see the sunlight glinting off of something metallic.

She instantly knew what it was.

Rilvuldra's wedding ring. It had somehow survived the fire.

~-~-~

It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when a runner ran through the village, crying that the Warlord Zairyk and his army had arrived.

"Chieftain!" The runner collapsed in front of Leravacha in the Longhouse, completely out of breath. "The Vondas! They-they're here!"

Leravacha cast Hakrynsif a meaningful glance and singalled for her to summon the companions. "Do not fret, child. I have called them here. They will not harm us; no, they are here to help us." Despite Leravacha's assured tone of voice, the chieftain could not help but be worried. But for the sake of her people, she would remain confident.

The runner slowly looked up, her eyes wide. "Y-you called upon the Vondas for help? My lady-" She quickly quieted when she saw the stern look in Leravacha's eyes. Without another word, the Chieftain left the Longhouse and made her way towards the outside of the village. Hakrynsif and the companions soon joined her.

"So, this Warlord is your...brother?" Isendir cast wary glances among them.

"Older brother, yes." Hakrynsif nodded. "Ten years ago, shortly before our father died, he was banished from the tribe for insubordination and treason. Zairyk was fond of having things go his way; he did not agree with father's normally peaceful ways. He wanted to conquer."

"Zairyk and her have never really gotten along," Hakrynsif added after a while. "But a lot can change in ten years."

"The tensions between us and the Vondas have increased ten fold this year," Leravacha snapped back. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and scowled. As they left the village, they could begin to see smoke rising up into the night air farther out in the desert; the campfires of Zairyk's army. A lone rider on a camel began to slowly trot over to them.

"He could easily take over our village if he wanted to, Chieftain," one of the warriors growled in their own language. "Are y-"

"Do not question my actions, warrior," Leravacha returned through clenched teeth. "I am well aware of the danger."

"Of course, Chieftain. Forgive me." The tribesman, clearly embarrassed, briefly bowed his head and fell back.

The camel rider came to a halt a few ways in front of them. The rider took off his cowl and scarf, revealing a brown, weathered, yet somewhat handsome, face. He raised both his hands up.

"I am unarmed. You needn't shove a sword through my stomach the moment I get off this camel," he said in their native language. He cocked his head at Leravacha. "Lera, please forgive me for what I did all those years ago." Zairyk's voice was hoarse and gruff.

The Warlord nimbly dismounted the camel. In the dimming light, the companions could tell that Zairyk was around the same age as Isenidr, if not older. It was obvious that he was the elder brother of Hakrynsif and Leravacha; the same freckles that dotted their nose and cheeks dotted his as well, and he had the same fiery glint in his dark brown eyes. He sported a beard, as well a jagged scar that ran across the bridge of his nose. He was dressed in fur to combat the cold of the winter desert.

He walked over to his two sisters and spread his arms wide. "Come on, Lera. You haven't changed...you're still that old grouchy eighteen year old girl I knew when I left."

Leravacha folded her arms over her chest. "You told me that if I married Rilvuldrasyn, you'd murder her."

Zairyk winced. "I-well, alright, I did say that, but I was angry. I-"

"Angry that I was marrying the person that I loved?" Leravacha raised an eyebrow at her brother.

"You know what?" Zairyk jabbed a finger at the Chieftain. "No hug for you. I am sorry for what I said, Lera. I was very hot headed back then; but I am older now. I regret what I said back then, I really do." He turned to Hakrynsif and smiled. "Ah, Hakrynsif. By the gods, look how you've grown! When I left, you were a mere child, and now, you are a woman!" He briefly embraced Hakrynsif before letting her go and putting his hands on her shoulders, beaming down at her like a proud dad. "You look just like mother."

The Priestess returned her brother's smile. "Thank you, Zairyk. I am glad to see you again. And the beard was a good choice." She nodded her head. "It hides your ugly face."

Zairyk chuckled. He turned back to Leravacha, only to be met with her cold stare.

"I am surprised you came, brother. I was not expecting you to listen, and let alone be here this quickly," she said, her voice hard.

"I was deeply disturbed by your letter," the Warlord hung one thumb off his belt and scratched his nose, "especially since you have not contacted me directly in so many years. I brought the majority of my army with me." He gestured behind him at the campfires and men milling about in the distance.

"It was Rilvuldra's idea to contact you," Leravacha continued. "I was completely against it, but she convinced me."

"Well I am glad that she did. Where is she, anway?" Zairyk looked around. "Sleeping, I suppose?"

Hakrynsif cast a swift glance at her sister. She saw a flicker of sadness in Leravacha's eyes. Her mouth opened, but her voice abruptly fell silent.

"Lera?" Zairyk's brows wrinkled. He became concerned. "Are-"

"She is sleeping, yes." Hakrynsif nodded. "As of last night, Rilvuldrasyn rests now with our lord Cheimon," she added quietly.

"Oh." Zairyk's eyes softened. "Lera, I am so sorry."

"Yeah. I bet you are." Leravacha scowled.

Zairyk, with an inward sigh, finally turned to the companions. His eyes ever so slightly widened when he saw them. "Who the hell are you?" he said, switching to Common.

"They are Isendir Shatterstorm, Varenyl Jorona, Aerysdren Ravenshard, Ragnus Frostjaw, and Lorthrendel," Leravacha said, gesturing to each of them as she said their names.

Zairyk gazed at Lorthrendel with a less than friendly eye. "Ah, a little fairy. You know, last time I saw one of your kind, the bastard called me savage and spit in my face. I only thought it was fair that I took his eyes in return."

"I have no quarrel with you, Zairyk of the Vondas Tribe," said Lorthrendel in a cool voice, "but call me a fairy again and I'll make molten gold pour down your throat." He nonchalantly took his spectacles off and cleaned them with a handkerchief before slipping them back on.

"Would you?" Zairyk smiled, as if challenging the mage.

Lorthrendel fixed him with a cold stare. "I used to be a necromancer, dear. If I still had my old spellbooks, I would also make your corpse dance for me, but unfortunately, I don't. But seeing your throat ripped out and bubbled up from the heat would suffice."

Zairyk chuckled and slapped Lorthrendel on his shoulder. "Haha! I like you, fairy. Violent and funny men always make interesting people. But I still don't like your kind," he added with a glint in his eye. "Now, let us go and discuss what you sent me here for, Lera."

With that, the group walked back to the village, heading for the Longhouse.

Along the way there, Ragnus grinned up at Lorthrendel. "Get offended back there, did ya laddie?"

"How would you like it if I called you a gnome?" The mage glanced down at the dwarf.

Ragnus chuckled into his beard, but muttered, "Fair enough."