White menhirs decorated its peak, gleaming dully in the frosted moonlight. Ildiko sat cross-legged on a thick horse blanket near the entrance of the tent she shared with Brishen. Sinhue sat on one side of her and Anhuset on the other, all three sharing a pot of hot tea as they watched the gathering of men at another fire across the camp. Quereci, Beladine and a single Kai crouched in a makeshift circle, passing flasks back and forth as they threw dice between them. Cheers alternated with groans and as winnings and losses traded hands in unending bets. Anhuset was the first to speak, keeping her voice soft so as not to disturb the Elsod and masods who slept in the tent nearby. “You still won’t be able to hear them no matter how hard you stare.” Ildiko harrumphed and huddled deeper in her cloak. “I don’t want to hear them. They’re planning the details of their deaths and doing it as if they’re betting on a horse race and picking the best odds.
