Fors picked at the sling which bound his left arm across his chest. There was an even chance that it would heal straight and strong again. The healer had promised him that after probing the wound.
“I think then,” he found that he had to stop and work out his words, to regain discipline over his voice, “I shall go and claim that right. Six moons are not yet gone—”
The Star Captain nodded. “If you can travel in three days’ time you will make it.”
“Fors!” At that protest from Arskane, the mountaineer winced. But when he turned his head his voice still held firm.
“It was you yourself, brother, who spoke of duty once—”
Arskane’s hand dropped. “Remember—we be brothers, you and I. Where lies my hearth—there is your place waiting.” He went and he did not look back, he was swallowed up in the throng of his tribesmen.
Marphy came to life. He shrugged. Already he was intent on other plans, other enthusiasms. But he lingered long enough to say:
“From this hour on for you there runs a mount in my herd and the promise of meat, and shelter in my tent. Look for the Standard of the Red Fox when you have need of aid, my young friend.” His hand sketched a half salute as he strode away.
Fors spoke to the Star Captain: “I shall go—”
“With me. I have also a report to make to the tribe— we journey together.