In the northern part of Windsaeve, close to the border with the farmlands, the Coastals sat in one of their first nests.

“Well, they followed us here, too,” Dreighton said, as they waited, letting the mob move past.

“We’ll just choose our moment,” Fawnlum said.

“I don’t think they’re going to get chased off by the dawn this time,” Sienna complained, adjusting her seat in the cramped space.

“Not that you could call that sickly grey light ‘dawn’,” Lucas told her.  “But don’t worry.  They’ll move on.  Patience isn’t in their nature.”

“But persistence is, as we’re finding out now,” Sienna countered.  “We left the southern forest two weeks ago, to find the smaller bands again.  Now they’re coming in a bunch here, too.  Let us cut to the chase, and go out and kill them, whether they be 50, 100, or 200.”

“We’ll stick to our stealth and ambush,” Fawnlum replied.  “We’ll wait them out.”

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

Sitting in the feeble daylight hours later, and feeling the unnerving effects of the darkness, she and her comrades looked out at their surroundings.  Since the tri-cleorps were coming now in greater numbers, each battle could be their last.

Fawnlum had to steel herself against it.  They had to hold their courage, and fortify their hearts, to turn the tide of this dark place.

The was no chill, but numbness nonetheless.  Like a burrowing parasite, the spirit of woe threatened to rob the warrior’s spirit of its valor.

She rubbed her temples.

This glade, near the northern border of the forest, between their first two nest sites, offered a little more light.  So she valued it for what it was worth, before leading them on.

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

Sye-nitch nearly ran to keep up with Croll, as they came into Hotchpik’s chamber.  “We’ve found’em!” the anxious commander announced.

The cleric sat still.  He muttered, while seated with legs folded; four tri-cleorps’ skulls sat in front of him.  Shocked, Sye-nitch stared momentarily at the small bed of glowing coals before the cleric.  How could the old one benefit, bringing visible light into the Many-Eye’d’s true darkness?

They had already broken taboo, by coming into the cleric’s sanctum uninvited.  Hotchpik just kept muttering his incantations.

Small puffs of dust hovered in the air, in front of each skull.  In the soft red glow, Sye-nitch noticed the alien dust wafting through the three eyes of each skull, to join with the tiny cloud before it.

Hotchpik suddenly cried out, clasping his hand over his venerated fourth eye.

He nearly rolled over, but bore the pain, until finally he let go of his holy, symbolic orb, and spoke to Croll, turning his head to look up at him.

Confident satisfaction marked his smile; but his eyes were far and away, in whatever images still lingered in his mind.  “Don’t loose your vengeful strength against them yet, warrior.  Let them come to you.”

Croll’s cheeks flushed in frustration, which Sye-nitch did not need the heat-vision to see.  But he maintained his discipline, and did not contradict the cleric.

“Wait for them?” he asked, with feigned calmness.

“Let them come to you.  Always to seek you out, as they cannot fight their battle unless you’re there.”

Croll swallowed his response.  The wisdom of the cleric was not to be disputed, especially when he was giving them guidance so directly.

With the lag of communication between the commander and the packs in the northern part of the above-forest, Sye-nitch knew he could not stop the mates who were up there now, hunting that cursed she-fighter.

“They’ll come to you, soon,” Hotchpik reiterated.  “Keep your troops’ strength ready.”

Croll stood silent.

Hotchpik just smiled.